UC-NRLF 


SB    IDE    SIM 


H 


I  knew  that  the  knife  was  on  the  base  of"  the  arrow  head" 
(see  page  1 4.8) 


THE 

WAY  OF  A  MAN 


EMERSON  HOUGH 

Author  of  "  The  Mississippi  Bubble^  "The  Story  of  the  Outlaw ,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BT  GEORGE  WRIGHT 


NEW  YORK 

THE    OUTING    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 
MCMVII 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
THE   OUTING   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  Eng. 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I  THE  KISSING  OF  Miss  GRACE  SHERATON       .  i 

II  THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME     ...  6 

III  THE  ART  OF  THE  ORIENT       .                          .  14 

IV  WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WAR    .                .        .  24 
V  THE  MADNESS  OF  MUCH  KISSING   .        .        .  29 

VI  A  SAD  LOVER  ...  -34 

VII  WHAT  COMETH  IN  THE  NIGHT      .  .     40 

VIII  BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS  .     47 

IX  THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  HEART   .  -59 

X  THE  SUPREME  COURT      .  •    73 

XI  THE  MORNING  AFTER &7 

XII  THE  WRECK  ON  THE  RIVER    .  -9° 

XIII  THE  FACE  IN  THE  FIRELIGHT        .  .     98 

XIV  Au  LARGE        ...                 .        .  .  no 

XV  HER  INFINITE  VARIETY  .                 .        .  .  118 

XVI     BUFFALO .        .  129 

XVII  Sioux!     ...                                          •  J39 

XVIII  THE  TEST        ...                                  .  144 

XIX  THE  QUALITY  OF  MERCY        .        .        .        .15° 

XX  GORDON  ORME,  MAGICIAN      .        .        .        •  *53 

XXI     Two  IN  THE  DESERT l62 

XXII  MANDY  McGovERN  ON  MARRIAGE  .        .        .  166 

XXIII    ISSUE  JOINED 17* 


M12540 


CONTENTS 


XXIV  FORSAKING  ALL  OTHERS    . 

XXV  CLEAVING  ONLY  UNTO  HER 

XXVI  IN  SICKNESS  AND  IN  HEALTH   . 

XXVII  WITH  ALL  MY  WORLDLY  GOODS  I 

ENDOW         .... 

XXVIII  TILL  DEATH  DO  PART 

XXIX  THE  GARDEN     .... 

XXX  THEY  TWAIN     .... 

XXXI  THE  BETROTHAL 

XXXII  THE  COVENANT 

XXXIII  THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

XXXIV  THE  Loss  OF  PARADISE 
XXXV  THE  YOKE         .... 

XXXVI  THE  GOAD          .... 

XXXVII  THE  FURROW     .... 

XXXVIII  HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED     . 

XXXIX  THE  UNCOVERING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

XL  A  CONFUSION  IN  COVENANTS 

XLI  ELLEN  OR  GRACE 

XLII  FACE  TO  FACE    .... 

XLIII  THE  RECKONING 

XLIV  THIS  INDENTURE  WITNESSETH  . 

XLV  ELLEN  .... 


THEE 


175 
184 

189 

198 
204 
207 

2IO 
219 
226 
231 

239 
247 
252 
256 
260 
271 
28l 
289 
3OI 

317 
332 
336 


VI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


«  I    knew    that    the    knife    was    on    the    base    of    the     arrow 

head "  ......  Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"  I    managed    to   hold    my  footing  till  Auberry's  arms  reached 

us  from  the  snag  "    .  .  .  .          .          .  .    1 04 

"'Father!'  she  cried" 240 

"She  approached  the  girl  who  stood  there  shrinking"  .  .296 

"As  we  joined  he  made  a  cut  to  the  left"         .          .  .    328 


THE    WAY    OF    A    MAN 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   KISSING  OF  MISS  GRACE  SHERATON 

I  ADMIT  I  kissed  her. 
Perhaps   I   should   not   have   done   so.     Perhaps  I 
would  not  do  so  again.    Had  I  known  what  was  to 
come  I  could  not  have  done  so.    Nevertheless  I  did. 

After  all,  it  was  not  strange.  All  things  about  us  con 
spired  to  be  accessory  and  incendiary.  The  air  of  the  Vir 
ginia  morning  was  so  soft  and  warm,  the  honeysuckles 
along  the  wall  were  so  languid  sweet,  the  bees  and  the  holly 
hocks  up  to  the  walk  so  fat  and  lazy,  the  smell  of  the  orchard 
was  so  rich,  the  south  wind  from  the  fields  was  so  wanton! 
Moreover,  I  was  only  twenty-six.  As  it  chances,  I  was  this 
sort  of  a  man:  thick  in  the  arm  and  neck,  deep  through,  just 
short  of  six  feet  tall,  and  wide  as  a  door,  my  mother  said; 
strong  as  one  man  out  of  a  thousand,  my  father  said.  And 
then — the  girl  was  there. 

So  this  was  how  it  happened  that  I  threw  the  reins  of 
Satan,  my  black  horse,  over  the  hooked  iron  of  the  gate  at 
Dixiana  Farm  and  strode  up  to  the  side  of  the  stone  pillar 
where  Grace  Sheraton  stood,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  watching  me  approach  through  the  deep  trough  road 
that  flattened  there,  near  the  Sheraton  lane.  So  I  laughed 

I 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

anfl Strode  up — £nd  kept  my  promise.  I  had  promised  my 
self  that  I  would  kiss  her  the  first  time  that  seemed  feasible. 
i  had  even  promised  her — when  she  came  home  from  Phila 
delphia  so  lofty  and  superior  for  her  stopping  a  brace  of 
years  with  Miss  Carey  at  her  Allendale  Academy  for  Young 
Ladies — that  if  she  mitigated  not  something  of  her  haughti 
ness,  I  would  kiss  her  fair,  as  if  she  were  but  a  girl  of  the 
country.  Of  these  latter  I  may  guiltily  confess,  though  with 
no  names,  I  had  known  many  who  rebelled  little  more  than 
formally. 

She  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  stone  pillar,  where  the  ivy 
made  a  deep  green,  and  held  back  her  light  blue  skirt  dain 
tily,  in  her  high-bred  way;  for  never  was  a  girl  Sheraton  who 
was  not  high-bred  or  other  than  fair  to  look  upon  in  the 
Sheraton  way — slender,  rather  tall,  long  cheeked,  with  very 
much  dark  hair  and  a  deep  color  under  the  skin,  and  some 
thing  of  long  curves  withal.  They  were  ladies,  every  one, 
these  Sheraton  girls;  and  as  Miss  Grace  presently  advised 
me,  no  milkmaids  wandering  and  waiting  in  lanes  for  lovers. 

When  I  sprang  down  from  Satan  Miss  Grace  was  but  a 
pace  or  so  away.  I  put  out  a  hand  on  either  side  of  her  as 
she  stood  in  the  shade,  and  so  prisoned  her  against  the  pillar. 
She  flushed  at  this,  and  caught  at  my  arm  with  both  hands, 
which  made  me  smile,  for  few  men  in  that  country  could  have 
put  away  my  arms  from  the  stone  until  I  liked.  Then  I 
bent  and  kissed  her  fair,  and  took  what  revenge  was  due 
our  girls  for  her  Philadelphia  manners. 

When  she  boxed  my  ears  I  kissed  her  once  more.  Had 
she  not  at  that  smiled  at  me  a  little,  I  should  have  been 
a  boor,  I  admit.  As  she  did — and  as  I  in  my  innocence 
supposed  all  girls  did — I  presume  I  may  be  called  but  a  man 


THE  KISSING  OF  MISS  GRACE  SHERATON 

as  men  go.  Miss  Grace  grew  very  rosy  for  a  Sheraton,  but 
her  eyes  were  bright.  So  I  threw  my  hat  on  the  grass  by 
the  side  of  the  gate  and  bowed  her  to  be  seated.  We  sat 
and  looked  up  the  lane  which  wound  on  to  the  big  Sheraton 
house,  and  up  the  red  road  which  led  from  their  farm  over 
toward  our  lands,  the  John  Cowles  farm,  which  had  been 
three  generations  in  our  family  as  against  four  on  the  part 
of  the  Sheratons'  holdings;  a  fact  which  I  think  always 
ranked  us  in  the  Sheraton  soul  a  trifle  lower  than  themselves. 

We  were  neighbors,  Miss  Grace  and  I,  and  as  I  lazily 
looked  out  over  the  red  road  unoccupied  at  the  time  by  even 
the  wobbling  wheel  of  some  negro's  cart,  I  said  to  her  some 
word  of  our  being  neighbors,  and  of  its  being  no  sin  for 
neighbors  to  exchange  the  courtesy  of  a  greeting  when  they 
met  upon  such  a  morning.  This  seemed  not  to  please  her; 
indeed  I  opine  that  the  best  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid  is  to 
make  no  manner  of  speech  whatever  before  or  after  any  such 
incident  as  this. 

"I  was  just  wandering  down  the  lane,"  she  said,  "to  see 
if  Jerry  had  found  my  horse,  Fanny." 

"Old  Jerry's  a  mile  back  up  the  road,"  said  I,  "fast 
asleep  under  the  hedge." 

"The  black  rascal!" 

"He  is  my  friend,"  said  I,  smiling. 

"You  do  indeed  take  me  for  some  common  person,"  said 
she;  "as  though  I  had  been  looking  for " 

"No,  I  take  you  only  for  the  sweetest  Sheraton  that  ever 
came  to  meet  a  Cowles  from  the  farm  yonder."  Which  was 
coming  rather  close  home,  for  our  families,  though  neighbors, 
had  once  had  trouble  over  some  such  meeting  as  this  two 
generations  back;  though  of  that  I  do  not  now  speak. 

3 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"Cannot  a  girl  walk  down  her  own  carriage  road  of  a 
morning,  after  hollyhocks  for  the  windows,  without " 

"She  cannot!"  I  answered.  I  would  have  put  out  an  arm 
for  further  mistreatment,  but  all  at  once  I  pulled  up.  What 
was  I  coming  to,  I,  John  Cowles,  this  morning  when  the 
bees  droned  fat  and  the  flowers  made  fragrant  all  the  air? 
I  was  no  boy,  but  a  man  grown;  and  ruthless  as  I  was,  I 
had  all  the  breeding  the  land  could  give  me,  full  Virginia 
training  as  to  what  a  gentleman  should  be.  And  a  gentle 
man,  unless  he  may  travel  all  a  road,  does  not  set  foot  too 
far  into  it  when  he  sees  that  he  is  taken  at  what  seems  his 
wish.  So  now  I  said  how  glad  I  was  that  she  had  come  back 
from  school,  though  a  fine  lady  now,  and  no  doubt  forgetful 
of  her  friends,  of  myself,  who  once  caught  young  rabbits  and 
birds  for  her,  and  made  pens  for  the  little  pink  pigs  at  the 
orchard  edge,  and  all  of  that.  But  she  had  no  mind,  it 
seemed  to  me,  to  talk  of  these  old  days;  and  though  now 
some  sort  of  wall  seemed  to  me  to  arise  between  us  as  we 
sat  there  on  the  bank  blowing  at  dandelions  and  pulling  loose 
grass  blades,  and  humming  a  bit  of  tune  now  and  then  as 
young  persons  will,  still,  thickheaded  as  I  was,  it  was  in 
some  way  made  apparent  to  me  that  I  was  quite  as  willing 
the  wall  should  be  there  as  she  herself  was  willing. 

My  mother  had  mentioned  Miss  Grace  Sheraton  to  me 
before.  My  father  had  never  opposed  my  riding  over  now 
and  then  to  the  Sheraton  gates.  There  were  no  better 
families  in  our  county  than  these  two.  There  was  no  reason 
why  I  should  feel  troubled.  Yet  as  I  looked  out  into  the 
haze  of  the  hilltops  where  the  red  road  appeared  to  leap  off 
sheer  to  meet  the  distant  rim  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  I  seemed  to 
hear  some  whispered  warning.  I  was  young,  and  wild  as 

4 


THE  KISSING  OF  MISS  GRACE  SHERATON 

any  deer  in  those  hills  beyond.  Had  it  been  any  enterprise 
scorning  settled  ways;  had  it  been  merely  a  breaking  of 
orders  and  a  following  of  my  own  will,  I  suppose  I  might 
have  gone  on.  But  there  are  ever  two  things  which  govern 
an  adventure  for  one  of  my  sex.  He  may  be  a  man;  but  he 
must  also  be  a  gentleman.  I  suppose  books  might  be  written 
about  the  war  between  those  two  things.  He  may  be  a  gen 
tleman  sometimes  and  have  credit  for  being  a  soft-headed 
fool,  with  no  daring  to  approach  the  very  woman  who  has 
contempt  for  him;  whereas  she  may  not  know  his  reasons 
for  restraint.  So  much  for  civilization,  which  at  times  I 
hated  because  it  brought  such  problems.  Yet  these  prob 
lems  never  cease,  at  least  while  youth  lasts,  and  no  commu 
nity  is  free  from  them,  even  so  quiet  a  one  as  ours  there  in 
the  valley  of  the  old  Blue  Ridge,  before  the  wars  had  rolled 
across  it  and  made  all  the  young  people  old. 

I  was  of  no  mind  to  end  my  wildness  and  my  roaming 
just  yet;  and  still,  seeing  that  I  was,  by  gentleness  of  my 
Quaker  mother  and  by  sternness  of  my  Virginia  father,  set 
in  the  class  of  gentlemen,  I  had  no  wish  dishonorably  to 
engage  a  woman's  heart.  Alas,  I  was  not  the  first  to  learn 
that  kissing  is  a  most  difficult  art  to  practice! 

When  one  reflects,  the  matter  seems  most  intricate.  Life 
to  the  young  is  barren  without  kissing;  yet  a  kiss  with  too 
much  warmth  may  mean  overmuch,  whereas  a  kiss  with  no 
warmth  to  it  is  not  worth  the  pains.  The  kiss  which  comes 
precisely  at  the  moment  when  it  should,  in  quite  sufficient 
warmth  and  yet  not  of  complicating  fervor,  working  no 
harm  and  but  joy  to  both  involved — those  kisses,  now  that 
one  pauses  to  think  it  over,  are  relatively  few. 

As  for  me,  I  thought  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  going. 

5 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

I  HAD  enough  to  do  when  it  came  to  mounting  my  horse 
Satan.  Few  cared  to  ride  Satan,  since  it  meant  a 
battle  each  time  he  was  mounted.  He  was  a  splendid 
brute,  black  and  clean,  with  abundant  bone  in  the  head  and 
a  brilliant  eye — blood  all  over,  that  was  easy  to  see.  Yet  he 
was  a  murderer  at  heart.  I  have  known  him  to  bite  the 
backbone  out  of  a  yearling  pig  that  came  under  his  manger, 
and  no  other  horse  on  our  farm  would  stand  before  him  a 
moment  when  he  came  on,  mouth  open  and  ears  laid  back. 
He  would  fight  man,  dog,  or  devil,  and  fear  was  not  in  him, 
nor  any  real  submission.  He  was  no  harder  to  sit  than 
many  horses  I  have  ridden.  I  have  seen  Arabians  and 
Barbary  horses  and  English  hunters  that  would  buck- jump 
now  and  then.  Satan  contented  himself  with  rearing  high 
and  whirling  sharply,  and  lunging  with  a  low  head;  so  that 
to  ride  him  was  a  matter  of  strength  as  well  as  skill. 
The  greatest  danger  was  in  coming  near  his  mouth  or  heels. 
My  father  always  told  me  that  this  horse  was  not  fit  to  ride; 
but  since  my  father  rode  him — as  he  would  any  horse  that 
offered — nothing  would  serve  me  but  I  must  ride  Satan 
also,  and  so  I  made  him  my  private  saddler  on  occasion. 

I  ought  to  speak  of  my  father,  that  very  brave  and  kindly 
gentleman  from  whom  I  got  what  daring  I  ever  had,  I  sup 
pose.  He  was  a  clean-cut  man,  five-eleven  in  his  stock- 

6 


THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

ings,  and  few  men  in  all  that  country  had  a  handsomer  body. 
His  shoulders  sloped — an  excellent  configuration  for  strength 
— as  a  study  of  no  less  a  man  than  George  Washington  will 
prove — his  arms  were  round,  his  skin  white  as  milk,  his  hair, 
like  my  own,  a  sandy  red,  and  his  eyes  blue  and  very  quiet. 
There  was  a  balance  in  his  nature  that  I  have  ever  lacked. 
I  rejoice  even  now  in  his  love  of  justice.  Fair  play  meant 
with  him  something  more  than  fair  play  for  the  sake  of 
sport — it  meant  as  well  fair  play  for  the  sake  of  justice. 
Temperate  to  the  point  of  caring  always  for  his  body's  wel 
fare,  as  regular  in  his  habits  as  he  was  in  his  promises  and 
their  fulfillments,  kindling  readily  enough  at  any  risk,  though 
never  boasting — I  always  admired  him,  and  trust  I  may  be 
pardoned  for  saying  so.  I  fear  that  at  the  time  I  mention 
now  I  admired  him  most  for  his  strength  and  courage. 

Thus  as  I  swung  leg  over  Satan  that  morning  I  resolved 
to  handle  him  as  I  had  seen  my  father  do,  and  I  felt  strong 
enough  for  that.  I  remembered,  in  the  proud  way  a  boy  will 
have,  the  time  when  my  father  and  I,  riding  through  the 
muddy  streets  of  Leesburg  town  together,  saw  a  farmer's 
wagon  stuck  midway  of  a  crossing.  "Come,  Jack,"  my 
father  called  me,  "we  must  send  Bill  Yarnley  home  to  his 
family."  Then  we  two  dismounted,  and  stooping  in  the 
mud  got  our  two  shoulders  under  the  axle  of  the  wagon, 
before  we  were  done  with  it,  our  blood  getting  up  at  the 
laughter  of  the  townsfolk.  When  we  heaved  together,  out 
came  Bill  Yarnley 's  wagon  from  the  mud,  and  the  laughter 
ended.  It  was  like  him — he  would  not  stop  when  once  he 
started.  Why,  it  was  so  he  married  my  mother,  that  very 
sweet  Quakeress  from  the  foot  of  old  Catoctin.  He  told  me 
she  said  him  no  many  times,  not  liking  his  wild  ways,  so  con- 

7 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

trary  to  the  manner  of  the  Society  of  Friends;  and  she  only 
consented  after  binding  him  to  go  with  her  once  each  week 
to  the  little  stone  church  at  Wallingford  village,  near  our 
farm,  provided  he  should  be  at  home  and  able  to  attend. 
My  mother  I  think  during  her  life  had  not  missed  a  half 
dozen  meetings  at  the  little  stone  church.  Twice  a  week, 
and  once  each  Sunday,  and  once  each  month,  and  four  times 
each  year,  and  also  annually,  the  Society  of  Friends  met 
there  at  Wallingford,  and  have  done  so  for  over  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  years.  Thither  went  my  mother,  quiet, 
brown- haired,  gentle,  as  good  a  soul  as  ever  lived,  and  with 
her  my  father,  tall,  strong  as  a  tree,  keeping  his  promise 
until  at  length  by  sheer  force  of  this  kept  promise,  he  himself 
became  half  Quaker  and  all  gentle,  since  he  saw  what  it 
meant  to  her. 

As  I  have  paused  in  my  horsemanship  to  speak  thus  of 
my  father,  I  ought  also  to  speak  of  my  mother.  It  was  she 
who  in  those  troublous  times  just  before  the  Civil  War  was 
the  first  to  raise  the  voice  in  the  Quaker  Meeting  which  said 
that  the  Friends  ought  to  free  their  slaves,  law  or  no  law; 
and  so  started  what  was  called  later  the  Unionist  sentiment 
in  that  part  of  old  Virginia.  It  was  my  mother  did  that. 
Then  she  asked  my  father  to  manumit  all  his  slaves;  and 
he  thought  for  an  hour,  and  then  raised  his  head  and  said  it 
should  be  done;  after  which  the  servants  lived  on  as  before, 
and  gave  less  in  return,  at  which  my  father  made  wry  faces, 
but  said  nothing  in  regret.  After  us  others  also  set  free 
their  people,  and  presently  this  part  of  Virginia  was  a  sort 
of  Mecca  for  escaped  blacks.  It  was  my  mother  did  that; 
and  I  believe  that  it  was  her  influence  which  had  much  to  do 
with  the  position  of  East  Virginia  on  the  question  of  the  war. 


THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

And  this  also  in  time  had  much  to  do  with  this  strange  story 
of  mine,  and  much  to  do  with  the  presence  thereabout  of  the 
man  whom  I  was  to  meet  that  very  morning;  although  when 
I  started  to  mount  my  horse  Satan  I  did  not  know  that  such 
a  man  as  Gordon  Orme  existed  in  the  world. 

When  I  approached  Satan  he  lunged  at  me,  but  I  caught 
him  by  the  cheek  strap  of  the  bridle  and  swung  his  head 
close  up,  feeling  for  the  saddle  front  as  he  reached  for  me 
with  open  mouth.  Then  as  he  reared  I  swung  up  with  him 
into  place,  and  so  felt  safe,  for  once  I  clamped  a  horse  fair 
there  was  an  end  of  his  throwing  me.  I  laughed  when  Miss 
Grace  Sheraton  called  out  in  alarm,  and  so  wheeled  Satan 
around  a  few  times  and  rode  on  down  the  road,  past  the 
fields  where  the  blacks  were  busy  as  blacks  ever  are,  and  so 
on  to  our  own  red  pillared- gates. 

Then,  since  the  morning  was  still  young,  and  since  the  air 
seemed  to  me  like  wine,  and  since  I  wanted  something  to 
subdue  and  Satan  offered,  I  spurred  him  back  from  the  gate 
and  rode  him  hard  down  toward  Wallingford.  Of  course 
he  picked  up  a  stone  en  route.  Two  of  us  held  his  head 
while  Billings  the  blacksmith  fished  out  the  stone  and  tapped 
the  shoe  nails  tight.  After  that  I  had  time  to  look  around. 

As  I  did  so  I  saw  approaching  a  gentleman  who  was  look 
ing  with  interest  at  my  mount.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
striking  men  I  have  ever  seen,  a  stranger  as  I  could  see,  for  I 
knew  each  family  on  both  sides  the  Blue  Ridge  as  far  up  the 
valley  as  White  Sulphur. 

"A  grand  animal  you  have  there,  sir,"  said  he,  accosting 
me.  "I  did  not  know  his  like  existed  in  this  country." 

"As  well  in  this  as  in  any  country,"  said  I  tartly.  He 
smiled  at  this. 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"You  know  his  breeding?" 

"Klingwalla  out  of  Bonnie  Waters." 

"No  wonder  he's  vicious,"  said  the  stranger,  calmly. 

"Ah,  you  know  something  of  the  English  strains,"  said  I. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As  much  as  that,"  he  com 
mented  indifferently. 

There  was  something  about  him  I  did  not  fancy,  a  sort  of 
condescension,  as  though  he  were  better  than  those  about 
him.  They  say  that  we  Virginians  have  a  way  of  reserving 
that  right  to  ourselves;  and  I  suppose  that  a  family  of  clean 
strain  may  perhaps  become  proud  after  generations  of  inde 
pendence  and  comfort  and  freedom  from  care.  None  the 
less  I  was  forced  to  admit  this  newcomer  to  the  class  of 
gentlemen.  He  stood  as  a  gentleman,  with  no  resting  or 
bracing  with  an  arm,  or  crossing  of  legs  or  hitching  about, 
but  balanced  on  his  legs  easily — like  a  fencer  or  boxer  or 
fighting  man,  or  gentleman,  in  short.  His  face,  as  I  now 
perceived,  was  long  and  thin,  his  chin  square,  although  some 
what  narrow.  His  mouth,  too,  was  narrow,  and  his  teeth 
were  narrow,  one  of  the  upper  teeth  at  each  side  like  the 
tooth  of  a  carnivore,  longer  than  its  fellows.  His  hair  was 
thick  and  close  cut  to  his  head,  dark,  and  if  the  least  bit 
gray  about  the  edges,  requiring  close  scrutiny  to  prove  it  so. 
In  color  his  skin  was  dark,  sunburned  beyond  tan,  almost  to 
parchment  dryness.  His  eyes  were  gray,  the  most  remarka 
ble  eyes  that  I  have  ever  seen — calm,  emotionless,  direct, 
the  most  fearless  eyes  I  have  ever  seen  in  mortal  head,  and 
I  have  looked  into  many  men's  eyes  in  my  time.  He  was 
taller  than  most  men,  I  think  above  the  six  feet  line.  His 
figure  was  thin,  his  limbs  thin,  his  hands  and  feet  slender. 
He  did  not  look  one-tenth  his  strength.  He  was  simply 

10 


THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

dressed,  dressed  indeed  as  a  gentleman.  He  stood  as  one, 
spoke  as  one,  and  assumed  that  all  the  world  accepted  him 
as  one.  His  voice  was  warmer  in  accent  than  even  our 
Virginia  speech.  I  saw  him  to  be  an  Englishman. 

" He  is  a  bit  nasty,  that  one";  he  nodded  his  head  toward 
Satan. 

I  grinned.  "I  know  of  only  two  men  in  Fairfax  County 
I'd  back  to  ride  him." 

"  Yourself  and " 

"My  father." 

"By  Jove!    How  old  is  your  father,  my  good  fellow?" 

"Sixty,  my  good  fellow,"  I  replied.     He  laughed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "there's  a  third  in  Fairfax  can  ride  him." 

"Meaning  yourself?" 

He  nodded  carelessly.  I  did  not  share  his  confidence. 
"He's  not  a  saddler  in  any  sense,"  said  I.  "We  keep  him 
for  the  farms." 

"Oh,  I  say,  my  friend,"  he  rejoined — "my  name's  Orme, 
Gordon  Orme — I'm  just  stopping  here  at  the  inn  for  a 
time,  and  I'm  deucedly  bored.  I've  not  had  leg  over  a 
decent  mount  since  I've  been  here,  and  if  I  might  ride  this 
beggar,  I'd  be  awfully  obliged." 

My  jaw  may  have  dropped  at  his  words;  I  am  not  sure. 
It  was  not  that  he  called  our  little  tavern  an  "inn."  It 
was  the  name  he  gave  me  which  caused  me  to  start. 

"Orme,"  said  I,  "Mr.  Gordon  Orme?  That  was  the 
name  of  the  speaker  the  other  evening  here  at  the  church  of 
the  Methodists." 

He  nodded,  smiling.  "Don't  let  that  trouble  you," 
said  he. 

None  the  less  it  did  trouble  me;  for  the  truth  was  that 

ii 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

word  had  gone  about  to  the  effect  that  a  new  minister  from 
some  place  not  stated  had  spoken  from  the  pulpit  on  that 
evening  upon  no  less  a  topic  than  the  ever  present  one  of 
Southern  slavery.  Now,  I  could  not  clear  it  to  my  mind 
how  a  minister  of  the  gospel  might  take  so  keen  and  swift  an 
interest  in  a  stranger  in  the  street,  and  that  stranger's  horse. 
I  expressed  to  him  something  of  my  surprise. 

"It's  of  no  importance,"  said  he  again.  "What  seems  to 
me  of  most  importance  just  at  present  is  that  here's  a  son  of 
old  Klingwalla,  and  that  I  want  to  ride  him." 

"  Just  for  the  sake  of  saying  you  have  done  so?"  I  inquired. 

His  face  changed  swiftly  as  he  answered:  "We  owned 
Klingwalla  ourselves  back  home.  He  broke  a  leg  for  my 
father,  and  was  near  killing  him." 

"Sir,"  I  said  to  him,  catching  his  thought  quickly,  "we 
could  not  afford  to  have  the  horse  injured,  but  if  you  wish 
to  ride  him  fair  or  be  beaten  by  him  fair,  you  are  welcome 
to  the  chance." 

His  eye  kindled  at  this.  "You're  a  sportsman,  sir,"  he 
exclaimed,  and  he  advanced  at  once  toward  Satan. 

I  saw  in  him  something  which  awakened  a  responsive 
chord  in  my  nature.  He  was  a  man  to  take  a  risk  and  wel 
come  it  for  the  risk's  sake.  Moreover,  he  was  a  horseman, 
as  I  saw  by  his  quick  glance  over  Satan's  furniture.  He 
caught  the  cheek  strap  of  the  bridle,  and  motioned  us  away 
as  we  would  have  helped  him  at  the  horse's  head.  Then 
ensued  as  pretty  a  fight  between  man  and  horse  as  one  could 
ask  to  see.  The  black  brute  reared  and  fairly  took  him  from 
the  ground,  fairly  chased  him  about  the  street,  as  a  great 
dog  would  a  rat.  But  never  did  the  iron  hold  on  the  bridle 
loosen,  and  the  man  was  light  on  his  feet  as  a  boy.  Finally 

12 


THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

he  had  his  chance,  and  with  the  lightest  spring  I  ever  saw  at 
a  saddle  skirt,  up  he  went  and  nailed  old  Satan  fair,  with  a 
grip  which  ridged  his  legs  out.  I  saw  then  that  he  was  a 
rider.  His  head  was  bare,  his  hat  having  fallen  off;  his  hair 
was  tumbled,  but  his  color  scarcely  heightened.  As  the 
horse  lunged  and  bolted  about  the  street,  Orme  sat  him  in 
perfect  confidence.  He  kept  his  hands  low,  his  knees  a 
little  more  up  and  forward  than  we  use  in  our  style  of  riding, 
and  his  weight  a  trifle  further  back ;  but  I  saw  from  the  lines 
of  his  limbs  that  he  had  the  horse  in  a  steel  grip.  He  gazed 
down  contemplatively,  with  a  half  serious  look,  master  of 
himself  and  of  the  horse  as  well.  Then  presently  he  turned 
him  up  the  road  and  went  off  at  a  gallop,  with  the  brute 
under  perfect  control.  I  do  not  know  what  art  he  used;  all 
I  can  say  is  that  in  a  half  hour  he  brought  Satan  back  in  a 
canter. 

This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with  Gordon  Orme,  that 
strange  personality  with  whom  I  was  later  to  have  much  to 
do.  This  was  my  first  witnessing  of  that  half  uncanny 
power  by  which  he  seemed  to  win  all  things  to  his  purposes. 
I  admired  him,  yet  did  not  like  him,  when  he  swung  care 
lessly  down  and  handed  me  the  reins. 

"He's  a  grand  one,"  he  said  easily,  "but  not  so  difficult  to 
ride  as  old  Klingwalla.  Not  that  I  would  discount  your 
own  skill  in  riding  him,  sir,  for  I  doubt  not  you  have  taken 
a  lot  out  of  him  before  now." 

At  least  this  was  generous,  and  as  I  later  learned,  it  was 
like  him  to  give  full  credit  to  the  performance  of  any  able 
adversary. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  ART  OF  THE  ORIENT 

OME,"  said  Orme  to  me,  "let  us  go  into  the  shade, 
for  I  find  your  Virginia  morning  warm." 

We  stepped  over  to  the  gallery  of  the  little  tavern, 
where  the  shade  was  deep  and  the  chairs  were  wide  and  the 
honeysuckles  sweet.  I  threw  myself  rather  discontentedly 
into  a  chair.  Orme  seated  himself  quietly  in  another,  his 
slender  legs  crossed  easily,  his  hands  meeting  above  his  elbows 
supported  on  the  chair  rails,  as  he  gazed  somewhat  medita 
tively  at  his  finger  tips. 

"So  you  did  not  hear  my  little  effort  the  other  night?"  he 
remarked,  smiling. 

"I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  you  speak.  But  I  will 
only  say  I  will  back  you  against  any  minister  of  the  gospel 
I  ever  knew  when  it  comes  to  riding  horses." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  deprecated,  "I'm  just  passing  through  on 
my  way  to  Albemarle  County  across  the  mountains.  You 
couldn't  blame  me  for  wanting  something  to  do — speaking 
or  riding,  or  what  not.  One  must  be  occupied,  you  know. 
But  shall  we  not  have  them  bring  us  one  of  these  juleps  of 
the  country?  I  find  them  most  agreeable,  I  declare." 

I  did  not  criticise  his  conduct  as  a  wearer  of  the  cloth,  but 
declined  his  hospitality  on  the  ground  that  it  was  early  in 
the  day  for  me.  He  urged  me  so  little  and  was  so  much 
the  gentleman  that  I  explained. 


THE  ART  OF   THE  ORIENT 

"Awhile  ago,"  I  said,  "my  father  came  to  me  and  said, 
1 1  see,  Jack,  that  thee  is  trying  to  do  three  things — to  farm, 
hunt  foxes,  and  drink  juleps.  Does  thee  think  thee  can 
handle  all  three  of  these  activities  in  combination?'  You 
see,  my  mother  is  a  Quakeress,  and  when  my  father  wishes 
to  reprove  me  he  uses  the  plain  speech.  Well,  sir,  I  thought 
it  over,  and  for  the  most  part  I  dropped  the  other  two,  and 
took  up  more  farming." 

"Your  father  is  Mr.  John  Cowles,  of  Cowles'  Farms?" 

"The  same." 

"No  doubt  your  family  know  every  one  in  this  part  of  the 
country?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well." 

"These  are  troublous  times,"  he  ventured,  after  a  time. 
"I  mean  in  regard  to  this  talk  of  secession  of  the  Southern 
States." 

I  was  studying  this  man.  What  was  he  doing  here  in  our 
quiet  country  community?  What  was  his  errand?  What 
business  had  a  julep-drinking,  horse-riding  parson  speaking 
in  a  Virginia  pulpit  where  only  the  gospel  was  known,  and 
that  from  exponents  worth  the  name? 

"You  are  from  Washington?"  I  said  at  length. 

He  nodded. 

"The  country  is  going  into  deep  water  one  way  or  the 
other,"  said  I.  "Virginia  is  going  to  divide  on  slavery.  It 
is  not  for  me,  nor  for  any  of  us,  to  hasten  that  time.  Trouble 
will  come  fast  enough  without  our  help." 

"I  infer  you  did  not  wholly  approve  of  my  little  effort  the 
other  evening.  I  was  simply  looking  at  the  matter  from  a 
logical  standpoint.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  the  old  world 
must  have  cotton,  that  the  Southern  States  must  supply  that 

15 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

cotton,  and  that  slavery  alone  makes  cotton  possible  for  the 
world.  It  is  a  question  of  geography  rather  than  of  politics ; 
yet  your  Northern  men  make  it  a  question  of  politics.  Your 
Congress  is  full  of  rotten  tariff  legislation,  which  will  make  a 
few  of  your  Northern  men  rich — and  which  will  bring  on  this 
war  quite  as  much  as  anything  the  South  may  do.  More 
over,  this  tariff  disgusts  England,  very  naturally.  Where 
will  England  side  when  the  break  comes?  And  what  will 
be  the  result  when  the  South,  plus  England,  fights  these 
tariff  makers  over  here?  I  have  no  doubt  that  you,  sir, 
know  the  complexion  of  all  these  neighborhood  families  in 
these  matters.  I  should  be  most  happy  if  you  could  find  it 
possible  for  me  to  meet  your  father  and  his  neighbors,  for  in 
truth  I  am  interested  in  these  matters,  merely  as  a  student. 
And  I  have  heard  much  of  the  kindness  of  this  country  to 
ward  strangers." 

It  was  not  our  way  in  Virginia  to  allow  persons  of  any 
breeding  to  put  up  at  public  taverns.  We  took  them  to  our 
homes.  I  have  seen  a  hundred  horses  around  my  father's 
barns  during  the  Quarterly  Meetings  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 
Perhaps  we  did  not  scrutinize  all  our  guests  over-closely,  but 
that  was  the  way  of  the  place.  I  had  no  hesitation  in  saying 
to  Mr.  Orme  that  we  should  be  glad  to  entertain  him  at 
Cowles'  Farms.  He  was  just  beginning  to  thank  me  for  this 
when  we  were  suddenly  interrupted. 

We  were  sitting  some  paces  from  the  room  where  landlord 
Sanderson  kept  his  bar,  so  that  we  heard  only  occasionally 
the  sound  of  loud  talk  which  came  through  the  windows. 
But  now  came  footsteps  and  confused  words  in  voices,  one  of 
which  I  seemed  to  know.  There  staggered  through  the  door 
a  friend  of  mine,  Harry  Singleton,  a  young  planter  of  our 

16 


THE  ART  OF   THE  ORIENT 

neighborhood,  who  had  not  taken  my  father's  advice,  but  con 
tinued  to  divide  his  favor  between  farming,  hunting  and  drink 
ing.  He  stood  there  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  face  more 
flushed  than  one  likes  to  see  a  friend's  face  before  midday. 

" Hullo,  oP  fel,"  he  croaked  at  me.  "Hurrah  for  C'fed- 
rate  States  of  America!" 

"Very  well,"  I  said  to  him,  "suppose  we  do  hurrah  for  the 
Confederate  States  of  America.  But  let  us  wait  until  there  is 
such  a  thing." 

He  glowered  at  me.  "Also,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "Hurrah 
for  Miss  Grace  Sheraton,  the  pretties'  girl  in  whole  C'federate 
States  America!" 

"Harry,"  I  cried,  "stop!  You're  drunk,  man.  Come 
on,  I'll  take  you  home." 

He  waved  at  me  an  uncertain  hand.  "Go  'way,  slight 
man!"  he  muttered.  "Grace  Sheraton  pretties'  girl  in 
whole  C'federate  States  America." 

According  to  our  creed  it  was  not  permissible  for  a  gen 
tleman,  drunk  or  sober,  to  mention  a  lady's  name  in  a  place 
like  that.  I  rose  and  put  my  hand  across  Harry's  mouth, 
unwilling  that  a  stranger  should  hear  a  girl's  name  men 
tioned  in  the  place.  No  doubt  I  should  have  done  quite  as 
much  for  any  girl  of  our  country  whose  name  came  up  in 
that  way.  But  to  my  surprise  Harry  Singleton  was  just 
sufficiently  intoxicated  to  resent  the  act  of  his  best  friend. 
With  no  word  of  warning  he  drew  back  his  hand  and  struck 
me  in  the  face  with  all  his  force,  the  blow  making  a  smart 
crack  which  brought  all  the  others  running  from  within. 
Still,  I  reflected,  that  this  was  not  the  act  of  Harry  Singleton, 
but  only  that  of  a  drunken  man  who  to-morrow  would  not 
remember  what  had  been  done. 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

11  That  will  be  quite  enough,  Harry,"  said  I.  "  Come,  now, 
I'll  take  you  home.  Sanderson,  go  get  his  horse  or  wagon, 
or  whatever  brought  him  here." 

"Not  home!"  cried  Harry.  "First  inflict  punishment  on 
you  for  denyin'  Miss  Gracie  Sheraton  pretties'  girl  whole 
C'fedrate  States  America.  Girls  like  John  Cowles  too  much! 
Must  mash  John  Cowles !  Must  mash  John  Cowles  sake  of 
Gracie  Sheraton,  pretties'  girl  in  whole  wide  worl'!" 

He  came  toward  me  as  best  he  might,  his  hands  clenched. 
I  caught  him  by  the  wrist,  and  as  he  stumbled  past,  I  turned 
and  had  his  arm  over  my  shoulder.  I  admit  I  threw  him 
rather  cruelly  hard,  for  I  thought  he  needed  it.  He  was 
entirely  quiet  when  we  carried  him  into  the  room  and  placed 
him  on  the  leather  lounge. 

"By  Jove!"  I  heard  a  voice  at  my  elbow.  "That  was 
handsomely  done — handsomely  done  all  around." 

I  turned  to  meet  the  outstretched  hand  of  my  new  friend, 
Gordon  Orme. 

"Where  did  you  learn  the  trick?"  he  asked. 

"The  trick  of  being  a  gentleman,"  I  answered  him  slowly, 
my  face  red  with  anger  at  Singleton's  foolishness,  "I  never 
learned  at  all.  But  to  toss  a  poor  drunken  fool  like  that 
over  one's  head  any  boy  might  learn  at  school." 

"No,"  said  my  quasi-minister  of  the  gospel,  emphatically, 
"I  differ  with  you.  Your  time  was  perfect.  You  made 
him  do  the  work,  not  yourself.  Tell  me,  are  you  a  skilled 
wrestler?" 

I  was  nettled  now  at  all  these  things  which  were  coming  to 
puzzle  and  perturb  an  honest  fellow  out  for  a  morning  ride. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  him,  "since  you  are  anxious  to  know, 
I'll  say  I  can  throw  any  man  in  Fairfax  except  one." 

18 


THE  ART  OF   THE  ORIENT 

"And  he?" 

"My  father.  He's  sixty,  as  I  told  you,  but  he  can  always 
beat  me." 

"There  are  two  in  Fairfax  you  cannot  throw,"  said  Onne, 
smiling. 

My  blood  was  up  just  enough  to  resent  this  challenge. 
There  came  to  me  what  old  Dr.  Hallowell  at  Alexandria 
calls  the  "gaudium  certaminis."  In  a  moment  I  was  little 
more  than  a  full-blooded  fighting  animal,  and  had  forgotten 
all  the  influences  of  my  Quaker  home. 

"Sir,"  I  said  to  him  hotly,  "I  propose  taking  you  home 
with  me.  But  before  I  do  that,  and  since  you  seem  to  wish 
it,  I  am  going  to  lay  you  on  your  back  here  in  the  road. 
Frankly,  there  are  some  things  about  you  I  do  not  like,  and 
if  that  will  remedy  your  conceit,  I'm  going  to  do  it  for  you — 
for  any  sort  of  wager  you  like." 

"Money  against  your  horse?"  he  inquired,  stripping  to 
his  ruffled  shirt  as  he  spoke.  "A  hundred  guineas,  five 
hundred?" 

"Yes,  for  the  horse,"  I  said.  "He's  worth  ten  thousand. 
But  if  you've  two  or  three  hundred  to  pay  for  my  soiling  the 
shoulders  of  your  shirt,  I'm  willing  to  let  the  odds  stand  so." 

He  smiled  at  me  simply — I  swear  almost  winningly,  such 
was  the  quality  of  the  man. 

"I  like  you,"  he  said  simply.  "If  all  the  men  of  this 
country  resembled  you,  all  the  world  could  not  beat  it." 

I  was  stripped  by  this  time  myself,  and  so,  without  pausing 
to  consider  the  propriety  on  either  side  of  our  meeting  in  this 
sudden  encounter  in  a  public  street,  we  went  at  it  as  though 
we  had  made  a  rendezvous  there  for  that  express  purpose, 
with  no  more  hesitation  and  no  more  fitness  than  two  game 

19 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

cocks  which  might  fall  fighting  in  a  church  in  case  they  met 
there. 

Orme  came  to  me  with  no  hurry  and  no  anxiety,  light  on 
his  feet  as  a  skilled  fencer.  As  he  passed  he  struck  for  my 
shoulder,  and  his  grip,  although  it  did  not  hold,  was  like  the 
cutting  of  a  hawk's  talons.  He  branded  me  red  with  his 
fingers  wherever  he  touched  me,  although  the  stroke  of  his 
hand  was  half  tentative  rather  than  aggressive.  I  went  to 
him  with  head  low,  and  he  caught  me  at  the  back  of  the  neck 
with  a  stroke  like  that  of  a  smiting  bar;  but  I  flung  him  off, 
and  so  we  stepped  about,  hands  extended,  waiting  for  a 
hold.  He  grew  eager,  and  allowed  me  to  catch  him  by  the 
wrist.  I  drew  him  toward  me,  but  he  braced  with  his  free 
arm  bent  against  my  throat,  and  the  more  I  pulled,  the  more 
I  choked.  Then  by  sheer  strength  I  drew  his  arm  over  my 
shoulder  as  I  had  that  of  Harry  Singleton.  He  glided  into 
this  as  though  it  had  been  his  own  purpose,  and  true  as  I 
speak  I  think  he  aided  me  in  throwing  him  over  my  head, 
for  he  went  light  as  a  feather,  and  fell  on  his  feet  when  I 
freed  him.  I  was  puzzled  not  a  little,  for  the  like  of  this  I 
had  not  seen  in  all  my  meetings  with  good  men. 

As  we  stepped  about  cautiously,  seeking  to  engage  again, 
his  eye  was  fixed  on  mine  curiously,  half  contemplatively, 
but  utterly  without  concern  or  fear  of  any  kind.  I  never 
saw  an  eye  like  his.  It  gave  me  not  fear,  but  horror  1  The 
more  I  encountered  him,  the  more  uncanny  he  appeared. 
The  lock  of  the  arm  at  the  back  of  the  neck,  those  holds 
known  as  the  Nelson  and  the  half-Nelson,  and  the  ancient 
"hip  lock,"  and  the  ineffectual  schoolboy  "grapevine" — 
he  would  none  of  things  so  crude,  and  slipped  out  of  them 
like  a  snake.  Continually  I  felt  his  hands,  and  where  he 

20 


THE  ART  OF   THE   ORIENT 

touched  there  was  pain — on  my  forehead,  at  the  edge  of 
the  eye  sockets,  at  the  sides  of  my  neck,  in  the  middle  of  my 
back — whenever  we  locked  and  broke  I  felt  pain,  and  I 
knew  that  such  assault  upon  the  nerve  centers  of  a  man's 
body  might  well  disable  him,  no  matter  how  strong  he  was. 
But,  as  for  him,  he  did  not  breathe  the  faster.  It  was  system 
with  him.  I  say,  I  felt  not  fear  only  but  a  horror  of  him. 

By  chance  I  found  myself  with  both  hands  on  his  arms, 
and  I  knew  that  no  man  could  break  that  hold  when  once 
set,  for  vast  strength  of  forearm  and  wrist  was  one  of  the 
inheritances  of  all  men  of  the  Cowles  family.  I  drew  him 
steadily  to  me,  pulled  his  head  against  my  chest,  and  upended 
him  fair,  throwing  him  this  time  at  length  across  my  shoulder. 
I  was  sure  I  had  him  then,  for  he  fell  on  his  side.  But  even 
as  he  fell  he  rose,  and  I  felt  a  grip  like  steel  on  each  ankle. 
Then  there  was  a  snake-like  bend  on  his  part,  and  before  I 
had  time  to  think  I  was  on  my  face.  His  knees  were  astride 
my  body,  and  gradually  I  felt  them  pushing  my  arms  up 
toward  my  neck.  I  felt  a  slight  blow  on  the  back  of  my 
head,  as  though  by  the  edge  of  the  hand — light,  delicate, 
gentle,  but  dreamy  in  its  results.  Then  I  was  half  conscious 
of  a  hand  pushing  down  my  head,  of  another  hand  reaching 
for  my  right  wrist.  It  occurred  to  me  in  a  distant  way  that 
I  was  about  to  be  beaten,  subdued — I,  John  Cowles! 

This  had  been  done,  as  he  had  said  of  my  own  work  with 
Singleton,  as  much  by  the  momentum  of  my  own  fall  as  by 
any  great  effort  on  his  part.  As  he  had  said  regarding  my 
own  simple  trick,  the  time  of  this  was  perfect,  though  how 
far  more  difficult  than  mine,  only  those  who  have  wrestled 
with  able  men  can  understand. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  found  myself  about  to  be 

21 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

mastered  by  another  man.  Had  he  been  more  careful  he 
certainly  would  have  had  the  victory  over  me.  But  the 
morning  was  warm,  and  we  had  worked  for  some  moments. 
My  man  stopped  for  a  moment  in  his  calm  pinioning  of  my 
arms,  and  perhaps  raised  his  hand  to  brush  his  face  or  push 
back  his  hair.  At  that  moment  luck  came  to  my  aid.  He 
did  not  repeat  the  strange  gentle  blow  at  the  back  of  my 
head — one  which  I  think  would  have  left  unconscious  a  man 
with  a  neck  less  stiff — and  as  his  pressure  on  my  twisted  arm 
relaxed,  I  suddenly  got  back  my  faculties.  At  once  I  used 
my  whole  body  as  a  spring,  and  so  straightened  enough  to 
turn  and  put  my  arm  power  against  his  own,  which  was  all 
I  wanted. 

He  laughed  when  I  turned,  and  with  perfect  good  nature 
freed  my  arm  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  bowing  with  hand 
upreached  to  me.  His  eye  had  lost  its  peculiar  stare,  and 
shone  now  with  what  seemed  genuine  interest  and  admira 
tion.  He  seemed  ready  to  call  me  a  sportsman,  and  a  good 
rival,  and  much  as  I  disliked  to  do  so,  I  was  obliged  to  say 
as  much  for  him  in  my  own  heart. 

"By  the  Lord!  sir,"  he  said — with  a  certain  looseness  of 
speech,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to 
employ,  "  you're  the  first  I  ever  knew  to  break  it." 

"'Twas  no  credit  to  me,"  I  owned.  "You  let  go  your 
hand.  The  horse  is  yours." 

" Not  in  the  least,"  he  responded,  "not  in  the  least."  If  I 
felt  I  had  won  him  I'd  take  him,  and  not  leave  you  feeling 
as  though  you  had  been  given  a  present.  But  if  you  like 
I'll  draw  my  own  little  wager  as  well.  You're  the  best  man 
I  ever  met  in  any  country.  By  the  Lord!  man,  you  broke 
the  hold  that  I  once  saw  an  ex-guardsman  killed  at  Singa- 

22 


THE  ART  OF   THE  ORIENT 

pore  for  resisting — broke  his  arm  short  off,  and  he  died  on 
the  table.  I've  seen  it  at  Tokio  and  Nagasaki — why,  man, 
it's  the  yellow  policeman's  hold,  the  secret  trick  of  the 
Orient.  Done  in  proper  time,  and  the  little  gentleman  is 
the  match  of  any  size,  yellow  or  white." 

I  did  not  understand  him  then,  but  later  I  knew  that  I 
had  for  my  first  time  seen  the  Oriental  art  of  wrestling  put 
in  practice.  I  do  not  want  to  meet  a  master  in  it  again.  I 
shook  Orme  by  the  hand. 

"If  you  like  to  call  it  a  draw,"  said  I,  "it  would  suit  me 
mighty  well.  You're  the  best  man  I  ever  took  off  coat  to 
in  my  life.  And  I'll  never  wrestle  you  again  unless — I  fear 
I  blushed  a  little — "well,  unless  you  want  it." 

"Game!  Game!"  he  cried,  laughing,  and  dusting  off  his 
knees.  "I  swear  you  Virginians  are  fellows  after  my  own 
heart.  But  come,  I  think  your  friend  wants  you  now." 

We  turned  toward  the  room  where  poor  Harry  was  mum 
bling  to  himself,  and  presently  I  loaded  him  into  the  wagon 
and  told  the  negro  man  to  drive  him  home. 

For  myself,  I  mounted  Satan  and  rode  off  up  the  street  of 
Wallingford  toward  Cowles'  Farms  with  my  head  dropped 
in  thought ;  for  certainly,  when  I  came  to  review  the  incidents 
of  the  morning,  I  had  had  enough  to  give  me  reason  for 
reflection. 


CHAPTER   IV 

WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WAR 

WE  sent  our  carriage  down  to  Wallingford  that 
evening  and  had  my  new  friend,  Mr.  Orme, 
out  to  Cowles'  Farms  for  that  night.   He  was  a 
stranger  in  the  land,  and  that  was  enough.     I  often  think 
to-day  how  ready  we  were  to  welcome  any  who  came,  and 
how  easily  we  might  have  been  deceived  as  to  the  nature  of 
such  chance  guests. 

Yet  Orme  so  finely  conducted  himself  that  none  might 
criticise  him,  and  indeed  both  my  father  and  mother  ap 
peared  fairly  to  form  a  liking  for  him.  This  was  the  more 
surprising  on  the  part  of  both,  since  they  were  fully  advised 
of  the  nature  of  his  recent  speech,  or  sermon,  or  what  you 
choose  to  call  it,  at  the  Methodist  church,  the  sentiments  of 
which  scarce  jumped  with  their  own.  Both  my  parents 
accepted  Orme  for  what  he  purported  to  be,  a  minister  of 
the  gospel;  and  any  singularity  of  his  conduct  which  they 
may  have  noticed  they  ascribed  to  his  education  in  commu 
nities  different  from  our  own  quiet  one.  I  remember  no 
acrimonious  speech  during  his  visit  with  us,  although  the 
doctrine  which  he  had  pronounced  and  which  now  and  again, 
in  one  form  or  another,  he  renewed,  was  not  in  accord  with 
ours.  I  recall  very  well  the  discussions  they  had,  and  re 
member  how  formally  my  mother  would  begin  her  little 
arguments:  "Friend,  I  am  moved  to  say  to  thee";  and  then 

24 


WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WAR 

she  would  go  on  to  tell  him  gently  that  all  men  should  be 
brothers,  and  that  there  should  be  peace  on  earth,  and  that 
no  man  should  oppress  his  brother  in  any  way,  and  that 
slavery  ought  not  to  exist. 

"What!  madam,"  Orme  would  exclaim,  "this  manner  of 
thought  in  a  Southern  family!"  And  so  he  in  turn  would 
go  on  repeating  his  old  argument  of  geography,  and  saying 
how  England  must  side  with  the  South,  and  how  the  South 
must  soon  break  with  the  North.  "This  man  Lincoln,  if 
elected,"  said  he,  "will  confiscate  every  slave  in  the  Southern 
States.  He  will  cripple  and  ruin  the  South,  mark  my  words. 
He  will  cost  the  South  millions  that  never  will  be  repaid.  I 
cannot  see  how  any  Virginian  can  fail  to  stand  with  all  his 
Southern  brothers,  front  to  front  against  the  North  on  these 
vital  questions." 

"I  do  not  think  the  South  would  fight  the  North  over 
slavery  alone.  The  South  loves  the  flag,  because  she  helped 
create  it  as  much  or  more  than  the  North.  She  will  not 
bear  treason  to  the  flag."  Thus  my  father. 

"It  would  be  no  treason,"  affirmed  Orme,  "but  duty,  if 
that  flag  became  the  flag  of  oppression.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
has  from  King  John  down  refused  to  be  governed  unjustly 
and  oppressively." 

And  so  they  went  on,  hour  after  hour,  not  bitterly,  but 
hotly,  as  was  the  fashion  all  over  the  land  at  that  time.  My 
father  remained  a  Whig,  which  put  him  in  line,  sometimes, 
with  the  Northern  men  then  coming  into  prominence,  such 
as  Morrill  of  New  England,  and  young  Sherman  from  across 
the  mountains,  who  believed  in  the  tariff  in  spite  of  what 
England  might  say  to  us.  This  set  him  against  the  Jefferson 
clans  of  our  state,  who  feared  not  a  war  with  the  North  so 

25 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

much  as  one  with  Europe.  Already  England  was  pro 
nouncing  her  course;  yet  those  were  not  days  of  triumphant 
conclusions,  but  of  doubtful  weighing  and  hard  judgment, 
as  we  in  old  Virginia  could  have  told  you,  who  saw  neighbors 
set  against  each  other,  and  even  families  divided  among 
themselves. 

For  six  years  the  war  talk  had  been  growing  stronger. 
Those  of  the  South  recoiled  from  the  word  treason — it  had  a 
hateful  sound  to  them— nor  have  they  to  this  day  justified  its 
application  to  themselves.  I  myself  believe  to-day  that 
that  war  was  much  one  of  geography  and  of  lack  of  trans 
portation.  Not  all  the  common  folk  of  the  North  or  of  the 
South  then  knew  that  it  was  never  so  much  a  war  of  principle, 
as  they  were  taught  to  think,  but  rather  a  war  of  self-interest 
between  two  clashing  commercial  parties.  We  did  not  know 
that  the  unscrupulous  kings  of  the  cotton  world,  here  and 
abroad,  were  making  deliberate  propaganda  of  secession 
all  over  the  South;  that  secession  was  not  a  thing  voluntary 
and  spontaneous,  but  an  idea  nourished  to  wrong  growth  by 
a  secret  and  shrewd  commercial  campaign,  whose  nature 
and  extent  few  dreamed,  either  then  or  afterward.  It  was 
not  these  rich  and  arrogant  planters  of  the  South,  even, 
men  like  our  kin  in  the  Carolinas,  men  like  those  of  the 
Sheraton  family,  who  were  the  pillars  of  the  Confederacy, 
or  rather,  of  the  secession  idea.  Back  of  them,  enshrouded 
forever  in  darkness — then  in  mystery,  and  now  in  oblivion 
which  cannot  be  broken— were  certain  great  figures  of  the 
commercial  world  in  this  land  and  in  other  lands.  These 
made  a  victim  of  our  country  at  that  time,  even  as  a  few 
great  commercial  figures  seek  to  do  to-day,  and  we,  poor 
innocent  fools,  flew  at  each  other's  throats,  and  fought, 

26 


WARS  AND  RUMORS   OF  WAR 

and  slew,  and  laid  waste  a  land,  for  no  real  principle  and  to 
no  gain  to  ourselves.  Nothing  is  so  easy  to  deceive,  to 
hoodwink,  to  blind  and  betray,  as  a  great  and  innocent 
people  that  in  its  heart  loves  justice  and  fair  play. 

I  fear,  however,  that  while  much  of  this  talk  was  going  on 
upon  the  galleries  at  Cowles'  Farms,  I  myself  was  busier  with 
the  training  of  my  pointer  than  I  was  with  matters  of  politics. 
I  was  not  displeased  when  my  mother  came  to  me  presently 
that  afternoon  and  suggested  that  we  should  all  make  a 
visit  to  Dixiana  Farm,  to  call  upon  our  neighbors,  the  Shera 
tons. 

"Mr.  Orme  says  he  would  like  to  meet  Colonel  Sheraton," 
she  explained,  "and  thee  knows  that  we  have  not  been  to  see 
our  neighbors  for  some  time  now.  I  thought  that  perhaps 
Colonel  Sheraton  might  be  moved  to  listen  to  me  as  well  as 
to  Mr.  Orme,  if  I  should  speak  of  peace — not  in  argument, 
as  thee  knows,  but  as  his  neighbor." 

She  looked  at  me  a  moment,  her  hand  dusting  at  my  coat. 
"Thee  knows  the  Sheratons  and  the  Cowles  have  sometimes 
been  friends  and  sometimes  enemies — I  would  rather  we 
were  friends.  And,  Jack,  Miss  Grace  is  quite  thy  equal — 
if  any  may  be  the  equal  of  my  boy.  And  some  day  thee  must 
be  thinking,  thee  knows " 

"I  was  already  thinking,  mother,"  said  I  gravely;  and  so, 
indeed,  I  was,  though  perhaps  not  quite  as  she  imagined. 

At  least  that  is  how  we  happened  to  ride  to  the  Sheratons 
that  afternoon,  in  our  greater  carriage,  my  father  and  Mr. 
Orme  by  the  side  of  my  mother,  and  I  alongside  on  horse 
back.  In  some  way  the  visit  seemed  to  have  a  formal  nature. 

Colonel  Sheraton  met  us  at  his  lawn,  and  as  the  day 
was  somewhat  warm,  asked  us  to  be  seated  in  the  chairs 

27 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

beneath  the  oaks.  Here  Miss  Grace  joined  us  presently, 
and  Orme  was  presented  to  her,  as  well  as  to  Mrs.  Sheraton, 
tall,  dark,  and  lace-draped,  who  also  joined  us  in  response 
to  Colonel  Sheraton's  request.  I  could  not  fail  to  notice 
the  quick  glance  with  which  Orme  took  in  the  face  and  figure 
of  Grace  Sheraton;  and,  indeed  he  had  been  a  critical  man 
who  would  not  have  called  her  fair  to  look  upon. 

The  elder  members  of  the  party  fell  to  conversing  in  their 
rocking-chairs  there  on  the  lawn,  and  I  was  selfish  enough 
to  withdraw  Miss  Grace  to  the  gallery  steps,  where  we  sat 
for  a  time,  laughing  and  talking,  while  I  pulled  the  ears  of 
their  hunting  dog,  and  rolled  under  foot  a  puppy  or  two, 
which  were  my  friends.  I  say,  none  could  have  failed  to 
call  Grace  Sheraton  fair.  It  pleased  me  better  to  sit  there 
on  the  gallery  steps  and  talk  with  her  than  to  listen  once  more 
to  the  arguments  over  slavery  and  secession.  I  could  hear 
Colonel  Sheraton's  deep  voice  every  now  and  then  emphati 
cally  coinciding  with  some  statement  made  by  Orme.  I  could 
see  the  clean-cut  features  of  the  latter,  and  his  gestures, 
strongly  but  not  flamboyantly  made. 

As  for  us  two,  the  language  that  goes  without  speech  be 
tween  a  young  man  and  a  maid  passed  between  us.  I 
rejoiced  to  mock  at  her,  always,  and  did  so  now,  declaring 
again  my  purpose  to  treat  her  simply  as  my  neighbor  and  not 
as  a  young  lady  finished  at  the  best  schools  of  Philadelphia. 
But  presently  in  some  way,  I  scarce  can  say  by  whose  first 
motion,  we  arose  and  strolled  together  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  and  out  into  the  orchard. 


28 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   MADNESS   OF  MUCH   KISSING 

"p  •  ^HAT  was  a  very  noble  thing  of  you,"  Miss  Grace 
1  Sheraton  was  saying  to  me,  as  we  passed  slowly 
-I  among  the  big  trees  of  the  Sheraton  apple  or 
chard.  Her  eyes  were  rather  soft  and  a  slight  color  lay  upon 
her  cheeks,  whose  ivory  hue  was  rarely  heightened  in  this 
way. 

"I  am  in  ignorance,  Miss  Grace,"  I  said  to  her. 

"Fie!  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean — about  yester 
day." 

"Oh,  that,"  said  I,  and  went  rather  red  of  the  face,  for  I 
thought  she  meant  my  salutation  at  the  gate. 

She,  redder  now  than  myself,  needed  no  explanation  as  to 
what  I  meant.  "No,  not  that,"  she  began  hastily,  "that 
was  not  noble,  but  vile  of  you !  I  mean  at  the  tavern,  where 
you  took  my  part " 

So  then  I  saw  that  word  in  some  way  had  come  to  her  of 
the  little  brawl  between  Harry  Singleton  and  myself.  Then 
indeed  my  face  grew  scarlet.  "It  was  nothing,"  said  I, 
"simply  nothing  at  all."  But  to  this  she  would  not  listen. 

"To  protect  an  absent  woman  is  always  manly,"  she  said. 
(It  was  the  women  of  the  South  who  set  us  all  foolish  about 
chivalry.)  "I  thank  you  for  caring  for  my  name." 

Now,  I  should  have  grown  warmer  in  the  face  and  in  the 
heart  at  this,,  but  the  very  truth  is  that  I  felt  a  chill  come  over 

29 


THE   WAY  OF  A  MAN 

me,  as  though  I  were  getting  deeper  into  cold  water.  I 
guessed  her  mind.  Now,  how  was  I,  who  had  kissed  her  at 
the  lane,  who  had  defended  her  when  absent,  who  called  now 
in  state  with  his  father  and  mother  in  the  family  carriage — 
how  was  I  to  say  I  was  not  of  the  same  mind  as  she?  I 
pulled  the  ears  of  the  hunting  dog  until  he  yelped  in  pain. 

We  were  deep  in  the  great  Sheraton  orchard,  across  the 
fence  which  divided  it  from  the  house  grounds,  so  far  that 
only  the  great  chimney  of  the  house  showed  above  the  trees. 
The  shade  was  gracious,  the  fragrance  alluring.  At  a  dis 
tance  the  voices  of  singing  negroes  came  to  us.  Presently 
we  came  to  a  fallen  apple  tree,  a  giant  perhaps  planted  there 
generations  before.  We  seated  ourselves  here,  and  we 
should  have  been  happy,  for  we  were  young,  and  all  about 
us  was  sweet  and  comforting.  Yet,  on  my  honor,  I  would 
rather  at  that  moment  have  been  talking  to  my  mother  than 
to  Grace  Sheraton.  I  did  not  know  why. 

For  some  time  we  sat  there,  pulling  at  apple  blossoms  and 
grass  stems,  and  talking  of  many  things  quite  beside  the  real 
question;  but  at  last  there  came  an  interruption.  I  heard 
the  sound  of  a  low,  rumbling  bellow  approaching  through 
the  trees,  and  as  I  looked  up  I  saw,  coming  forward  with  a 
certain  confidence,  Sir  Jonas,  the  red  Sheraton  bull,  with  a 
ring  in  his  nose,  and  in  his  carriage  an  intense  haughtiness 
for  one  so  young.  I  knew  all  about  Sir  Jonas,  for  we  had 
bred  him  on  our  farm,  and  sold  him  not  long  since  to  the 
Sheratons. 

Miss  Grace  gathered  her  skirts  for  instant  flight,  but  I 
quickly  pushed  her  down.  I  knew  the  nature  of  Sir  Jonas 
very  well,  and  saw  that  flight  would  mean  disaster  long  before 
she  could  reach  any  place  of  safety. 

30 


THE  MADNESS   OF  MUCH  KISSING 

"Keep  quiet,"  I  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice.  "Don't  make 
any  quick  motions,  or  he'll  charge.  Come  with  me,  slowly 
now." 

Very  pale,  and  with  eyes  staring  at  the  intruder,  she  arose 
as  I  bade  her  and  slowly  moved  toward  the  tree  which  I  had 
in  mind.  "Now — quick!"  I  said,  and  catching  her  beneath 
the  arms  I  swung  her  up  into  the  low  branches.  Her  light 
lawn  gown  caught  on  a  knotty  limb,  somewhat  to  her  per 
turbation,  and  ere  I  could  adjust  it  and  get  her  safe  aloft  Sir 
Jonas  had  made  up  his  mind.  He  came  on  with  head  down, 
in  a  short,  savage  rush,  and  his  horn  missed  my  trouser  leg 
by  no  more  than  an  inch  as  I  dodged  around  the  tree.  At 
this  I  laughed,  but  Miss  Grace  screamed,  until  between  my 
hasty  actions  I  called  to  her  to  keep  quiet. 

Sir  Jonas  seemed  to  have  forgotten  my  voice,  and  though  I 
commanded  him  to  be  gone,  he  only  shook  his  curly  front 
and  came  again  with  head  low  and  short  legs  working  very 
fast.  Once  more  he  nearly  caught  me  with  a  side  lunge  of 
his  wicked  horns  as  he  whirled.  He  tossed  up  his  head  then 
and  bolted  for  the  tree  where  Miss  Grace  had  her  refuge. 
Then  I  saw  it  was  the  red  lining  of  her  Parisian  parasol  which 
had  enraged  him.  "Throw  it  down!"  I  called  out  to  her. 
She  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  toss  it  straight  down  to 
Sir  Jonas,  who  would  have  trampled  it  at  once,  so  she  cast 
it  sidelong  toward  me,  and  inch  by  inch  I  beat  Sir  Jonas  in 
the  race  to  it.  Then  I  resolved  that  he  should  not  have  it 
at  all,  and  so  tossed  it  into  the  branches  of  another  tree  as 
I  ran. 

"Come,"  called  the  girl  to  me,  "jump!  Get  up  into  a 
tree.  He  can't  catch  you  there." 

But  I  was  in  no  mind  to  take  to  a  tree,  and  wait  for  some 

31 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

inglorious  discovery  by  a  rescue  party  from  the  house.  I 
found  my  fighting  blood  rising,  and  became  of  the  mind  to 
show  Sir  Jonas  who  was  his  master,  regardless  of  who  might 
be  his  owner. 

His  youth  kept  him  in  good  wind  still,  and  he  charged  me 
again  and  again,  keeping  me  hard  put  to  it  to  find  trees 
enough,  even  in  an  orchard  full  of  trees.  Once  he  ripped 
the  bark  half  off  a  big  trunk  as  I  sprang  behind  it,  and  he 
stood  with  his  head  still  pressed  there,  not  two  feet  from 
where  I  was,  with  my  hand  against  the  tree,  braced  for  a 
sudden  spring.  His  front  foot  dug  in  the  sod,  his  eyes  were 
red,  and  between  his  grumbles  his  breath  came  in  puffs 
and  snorts  of  anger.  Evidently  he  meant  me  ill,  and  this 
thought  offended  me. 

Near  by  me  on  the  ground  lay  a  ragged  limb,  cut  from 
some  tree  by  the  pruners,  now  dry,  tough  and  not  ill- shaped 
for  a  club.  I  reached  back  with  my  foot  and  pulled  it 
within  reach,  then  stooped  quickly  and  got  it  in  hand,  break 
ing  off  a  few  of  the  lesser  branches  with  one  foot,  as  we  still 
stood  there  eying  each  other.  "Now,  sir,"  said  I  to  Sir 
Jonas  at  last,  "I  shall  show  you  that  no  little  bull  two  years 
old  can  make  me  a  laughing  stock."  Then  I  sprang  out  and 
carried  the  war  into  Africa  forthwith. 

Sir  Jonas  was  surprised  when  I  came  from  behind  the 
tree  and  swung  a  hard  blow  to  the  side  of  his  tender  nose ; 
and  as  I  repeated  this,  he  grunted,  blew  out  his  breath  and 
turned  his  head  to  one  side  with  closed  eyes,  raising  his 
muzzle  aloft  in  pain.  Once  more  I  struck  him  fair  on  the 
muzzle,  and  this  time  he  bawled  loudly  in  surprise  and 
anguish,  and  so  turned  to  run.  This  act  of  his  offered  me 
fair  hold  upon  his  tail,  and  so  affixed  to  him,  I  followed 

32 


THE  MADNESS   OF  MUCH  KISSING 

smiting  him  upon  the  back  with  blows  which  I  think  cut 
through  his  hide  where  the  pointed  knots  struck.  Thus 
with  loud  orders  and  with  a  voice  which  he  ought  better  to 
have  remembered,  I  brought  him  to  his  senses  and  pursued 
him  entirely  out  of  the  orchard,  so  that  he  had  no  mind 
whatever  to  return.  After  which,  with  what  dignity  I  could 
summon,  I  returned  to  the  tree  where  Grace  Sheraton  was 
still  perched  aloft.  Drawing  my  riding  gloves  from  my 
pocket  I  reached  up  my  hands,  somewhat  soiled  with  the 
encounter,  and  so  helped  her  down  to  earth  once  more. 
And  once  more  her  gaze,  soft  and  not  easily  to  be  mistaken, 
rested  upon  me. 

"Tell  me,  Jack  Cowles,"  she  said,  "is  there  anything  in 
the  world  you  are  afraid  to  do?" 

"At  least  I'm  not  afraid  to  give  a  lesson  to  any  little  Sir 
Jonas  that  has  forgot  his  manners,"  I  replied.  "But  I  hope 
you  are  not  hurt  in  any  way?"  She  shook  her  head,  smooth 
ing  out  her  gown,  and  again  raised  her  eyes  to  mine. 

We  seated  ourselves  again  upon  our  fallen  apple  tree. 
Her  hand  fell  upon  my  coat  sleeve.  We  raised  our  eyes. 
They  met.  Our  lips  met  also — I  do  not  know  how. 

I  do  not  hold  myself  either  guilty  or  guiltless.  I  am  only 
a  man  now.  I  was  only  a  boy  then.  But  even  then  I  had 
my  notions,  right  or  wrong,  as  to  what  a  gentleman  should 
be  and  do.  At  least  this  is  how  Grace  Sheraton  and  I 
became  engaged. 


33 


CHAPTER   VI 

A   SAD   LOVER 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  scene  there  under  the  oaks 
of  the  Sheraton  front  yard,  which  met  my  gaze  when 
Miss  Grace  and  I  came  about  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Before  us,  and  facing  each  other,  stood  my  father  and 
Colonel  Sheraton,  the  former  standing  straight  and  tall,  Colo 
nel  Sheraton  with  tightly  clenched  hand  resting  on  his  stick, 
his  white  hair  thrown  back,  his  shaggy  brows  contracted. 
My  mother  sat  in  the  low  rocker  which  had  been  brought 
to  her,  and  opposite  her,  leaning  forward,  was  Mrs.  Shera 
ton,  tall,  thin,  her  black  eyes  fixed  upon  the  men.  Orme, 
also  standing,  his  hands  behind  him,  regarded  the  troubled 
men  intently.  Near  at  hand  was  the  Sheratons'  Jim,  his 
face  also  fixed  upon  them;  and  such  was  his  own  emotion 
that  he  had  tipped  his  silver  tray  and  dropped  one  of  the 
Sheraton  cut  glass  julep  glasses  to  the  sod. 

It  was  mid- afternoon,  or  evening,  as  we  call  it  in  Virginia, 
and  the  light  was  still  frank  and  strong,  though  the  wind  was 
softening  among  the  great  oaks,  and  the  flowers  were  sweet 
all  about.  It  was  a  scene  of  peace;  but  it  was  not  peace 
which  occupied  those  who  made  its  central  figures. 

"I  tell  you,  Cowles,"  said  Colonel  Sheraton,  grinding  his 
stick  into  the  turf,  "you  do  not  talk  like  a  Virginian.  If  the 
North  keeps  on  this  course,  then  we  Southerners  must  start 
a  country  of  our  own.  Look,  man — "  He  swept  about 

34 


A  SAD  LOVER 

him  an  arm  which  included  his  own  wide  acres  and  ours, 
lying  there  shimmering  clear  to  the  thin  line  of  the  old  Blue 
Ridge — "We  must  fight  for  these  homes!" 

My  mother  stirred  in  her  chair,  but  she  made  no  speech, 
only  looked  at  my  father. 

"You  forget,  Colonel,"  said  my  father  in  his  low,  deep 
voice,  "that  this  man  Lincoln  has  not  yet  been  elected,  and 
that  even  if  elected  he  may  prove  a  greater  figure  than  we 
think.  He  has  not  yet  had  chance  to  learn  the  South." 

Orme  had  been  standing  silent,  his  face  indifferent  or 
faintly  lighted  with  an  habitual  cynicism.  Now  he  broke  in. 
"He  will  never  be  elected,"  he  said  emphatically.  "It 
would  ruin  the  entire  industry  of  the  South.  I  tell  you 
Lincoln  is  thinking  of  his  own  political  advancement  and 
caring  nothing  for  this  country.  The  South  must  secede, 
gentlemen — if  you  will  allow  me  as  a  stranger  to  venture  an 
opinion." 

My  mother  turned  her  gaze  to  him,  but  it  was  Sheraton 
who  spoke. 

"It  goes  back  to  the  old  Articles  of  Federation,  our  first 
compact,"  he  said.  "From  the  very  first  the  makers  of  this 
country  saw  that  by  reason  of  diverse  industries  the  South 
was  separated  from  the  North.  This  secession  has  been 
written  in  the  sky  from  the  beginning  of  the  world." 

"Nay,  brother  Sheraton,"  broke  in  my  mother  eagerly, 
"it  was  the  union  of  brother  ship  that  was  written  first  in  the 
sky." 

He  turned  to  her  with  the  bow  of  a  gentleman.  "It  is 
you  ladies  who  knit  the  world  together  with  kindness,"  he 
said.  "Alas,  that  men  must  rend  it  with  fighting." 

"AlasJ"  whispered  she. 

35 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Sheraton's  own  face  was  sad  as  he  went  on  with  the  old 
justification.  "  Jefferson  would  turn  over  in  his  grave  if  he 
saw  Virginia  divided  as  it  is.  Why,  Cowles,  we've  all  the 
world  we  need  here.  We  can  live  alone  here,  each  on  his 
own  acres,  a  gentleman,  and  all  he  needs  of  government  is 
protection  and  fair  laws.  Calhoun  was  right.  Better  give 
us  two  peaceful  countries,  each  living  happily  and  content, 
than  one  at  war  with  itself.  Clay  was  a  great  man,  but  both 
he  and  Webster  were  fighting  against  the  inevitable." 

"That  is  true,"  interrupted  Orme;  "unquestionably  true. 
Texas  came  near  becoming  a  colony  of  England  because  this 
country  would  not  take  her.  She  declared  for  slavery,  and 
had  that  right.  The  Spaniards  had  made  California  a  slave 
state,  but  the  gold  seekers  by  vote  declared  her  free.  They 
had  that  right  to  govern  themselves.  As  to  the  new  lands 
coming  in,  it  is  their  right  also  to  vote  upon  the  question  of 
slavery,  each  new  state  for  itself." 

"The  war  has  already  begun  on  the  border,"  said  my 
father.  "My  friend  and  partner,  Colonel  Meriwether  of 
Albemarle,  who  is  with  the  Army  in  the  West,  says  that 
white  men  are  killing  white  men  all  across  the  lands  west 
of  the  Missouri." 

"At  least,  Cowles,"  said  Colonel  Sheraton,  pacing  a  short 
way  apart,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  "we  can  wait  until 
after  this  election." 

"But  if  the  Government  takes  action?"  suggested  Orme. 

Sheraton  whirled  quickly.  "Then  war!  war!"  he  cried. 
"War  till  each  Virginian  is  dead  on  his  doorstep,  and  each 
woman  starved  at  her  fireside.  John  Cowles,  you  and  I  will 
fight — I  know  that  you  will  fight." 

"Yes,"  said  my  father,  "I  will  fight." 

36 


A  SAD  LOVER 

"And  with  us!" 

"No,"  said  my  father,  sighing;  "no,  my  friend,  against 
you!"  I  saw  my  mother  look  at  him  and  sink  back  in  her 
chair.  I  saw  Orme  also  gaze  at  him  sharply,  with  a  peculiar 
look  upon  his  face. 

But  so,  at  least,  this  argument  ended  for  the  time.  The 
two  men,  old  neighbors,  took  each  other  solemnly  by  the 
hand,  and  presently,  after  talk  of  more  pleasant  sort  on 
lesser  matters,  the  servants  brought  our  carriage  and  we 
started  back  for  Cowles'  Farms. 

There  had  been  no  opportunity  for  me  to  mention  to  Colo 
nel  and  Mrs.  Sheraton  something  that  was  upon  my  mind. 
I  had  small  chance  for  farewell  to  Miss  Grace,  and  if  I  shall 
admit  the  truth,  this  pleased  me  quite  as  well  as  not. 

We  rode  in  silence  for  a  time,  my  father  musing,  my 
mother  silent  also.  It  was  Orme  who  was  the  first  I  heard 
to  speak. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Cowles,"  he  said,  "you  spoke  of  Colonel 
Meriwether  of  Albemarle  County.  Is  he  away  in  the  West? 
It  chances  that  I  have  letters  to  him,  and  I  was  purposing 
going  into  that  country  before  long." 

"Indeed,  sir?"  replied  my  father.  "I  am  delighted  to 
know  that  you  are  to  meet  my  friend.  As  it  chances,  he  is  my 
associate  in  a  considerable  business  enterprise — a  splendid 
man,  a  splendid  man,  Meriwether.  I  will,  if  you  do  not  mind, 
add  my  letter  to  others  you  may  have,  and  I  trust  you  will 
carry  him  our  best  wishes  from  this  side  of  the  mountains." 

That  was  like  my  father — innocent,  unsuspicious,  ever 
ready  to  accept  other  men  as  worthy  of  his  trust,  and  ever 
ready  to  help  a  stranger  as  he  might.  For  myself,  I  confess 
I  was  more  suspicious.  Something  about  Orme  set  me  on 

37 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

edge,  I  knew  not  what.  I  heard  them  speaking  further 
about  Meriwether's  being  somewhere  in  the  West,  and  heard 
Orme  also  say  carelessly  that  he  must  in  any  case  run  over 
to  Albemarle  and  call  upon  some  men  whom  he  was  to  meet 
at  the  University  of  Virginia.  We  did  not  ask  his  errand, 
and  none  of  us  suspected  the  purpose  of  his  systematic  visit 
ing  among  the  more  influential  centers  of  that  country.  But 
if  you  will  go  now  to  that  white- domed  building  planned  by 
Thomas  Jefferson  at  Charlottesville,  and  read  the  names  on 
the  brazen  tablets  by  the  doors,  names  of  boys  who  left 
school  there  to  enter  a  harder  school,  then  you  will  see  the 
results  of  the  visit  there  of  Gordon  Orme. 

My  little  personal  affairs  were  at  that  time  so  close  to  me 
that  they  obscured  clear  vision  of  larger  ones.  I  did  not  hear 
all  the  talk  in  the  carriage,  but  pulled  my  horse  in  behind 
and  so  rode  on  moodily,  gazing  out  across  the  pleasant  lands 
to  the  foot  of  old  Catoctin  and  the  dim  Blue  Ridge.  A 
sudden  discontent  assailed  me.  Must  I  live  here  always — 
must  I  settle  down  and  be  simply  a  farmer  forever?  I 
wanted  to  ride  over  there,  over  the  Rock  Fish  Gap,  where 
once  King  Charles'  men  broke  a  bottle  in  honor  of  the  king, 
and  took  possession  of  all  the  lands  west  of  the  Pacific.  The 
West — the  word  in  some  way  thrilled  in  my  blood — I  knew 
not  why.  I  was  a  boy.  I  had  not  learned  to  question  any 
emotion,  and  introspection  troubled  me  no  more  than  it  did 
my  pointer  dog. 

Before  we  had  separated  at  the  door  of  our  house,  I  mo 
tioned  to  my  mother,  and  we  drew  apart  and  seated  our 
selves  beneath  our  own  oaks  in  the  front  yard  of  Cowles' 
Farms.  Then  I  told  her  what  had  happened  between  Miss 
Grace  and  myself,  and  asked  her  if  she  was  pleased. 

38 


A   SAD  LOVER 

"I  am  very  content  with  thee,"  she  answered,  slowly, 
musingly.  "Thee  must  think  of  settling,  Jack,  and  Miss 
Grace  is  a  worthy  girl.  I  hope  it  will  bring  peace  between 
our  families  always."  I  saw  a  film  cross  her  clear,  dark 
eye.  " Peace  1"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "I  wish  that  it 
might  be." 

But  peace  was  not  in  my  heart.  Leaving  her  presently,  I 
once  more  swung  leg  over  saddle  and  rode  off  across  our  fields, 
as  sad  a  lover  as  ever  closed  the  first  day  of  his  engagement  to 
be  wed. 


39 


CHAPTER   VII 

WHAT   COMETH   IN  THE   NIGHT 

WHEN  I  rode  up  our  lane  in  the  dusk,  I  found  my 
father  and  mother  sitting  in  the  cool  of  the  front 
gallery,  and  giving  my  rein  to  one  of  our  boys,  I 
flung  myself  down  on  the  steps  near  by,  and  now  and  again 
joined  in  their  conversation. 

I  was  much  surprised  to  learn  that  our  whilom  guest, 
Gordon  Orme,  had  taken  sudden  departure  during  my 
absence,  he  having  been  summoned  by  a  messenger  from 
the  village,  who  he  stated  brought  him  word  that  he  must 
forthwith  be  on  his  way  to  Aibemarle.  He  had  asked  my 
father  if  he  cared  to  sell  the  black  horse,  Satan,  to  which  he 
had  taken  a  fancy,  but  this  had  been  declined.  Then  it 
seems  there  had  come  up  something  of  our  late  meeting  at 
the  village,  and  Orme,  laughing,  had  told  of  our  horse  break 
ing  and  wrestling  in  a  way  which  it  seemed  had  not  de 
tracted  from  my  standing  in  my  parents'  eyes.  None  of  us 
three  was  willing  to  criticise  our  guest,  yet  I  doubt  if  any 
one  of  us  failed  to  entertain  a  certain  wonder,  not  to  say 
suspicion,  regarding  him.  At  least  he  was  gone. 

Our  talk  now  gradually  resolved  itself  to  one  on  business 
matters.  I  ought  to  have  said  that  my  father  was  an  ambi 
tious  man  and  one  of  wide  plans.  I  think  that  even  then  he 
foresaw  the  day  when  the  half-patriarchial  life  of  our  State 
would  pass  away  before  one  of  wider  horizons  of  commercial 

40 


WHAT  COMETH  IN   THE  NIGHT 

sort.  He  was  anxious  to  hand  down  his  family  fortune 
much  increased,  and  foreseeing  troublous  times  ahead  as  to 
the  institution  of  slavery  in  the  South,  he  had  of  late  been 
taking  large  risks  to  assure  success  in  spite  of  any  change  of 
times.  Now,  moved  by  some  strange  reasons  which  he  him 
self  perhaps  did  not  recognize,  he  began  for  the  first  time, 
contrary  to  his  usual  reticence,  to  explain  to  my  mother  and 
me  something  of  these  matters.  He  told  us  that  in  connec 
tion  with  his  friend,  Colonel  William  Meriwether,  of  Albe- 
marle,  he  had  invested  heavily  in  coal  lands  in  the  western 
part  of  the  State,  in  what  is  now  West  Virginia.  This  re 
quiring  very  large  sums  of  money,  he  for  his  part  had  encum 
bered  not  only  the  lands  themselves,  but  these  lands  of  Cowles' 
Farms  to  secure  the  payment.  The  holder  of  these  mortgages 
was  a  banking  firm  in  Fredericksburg.  The  interest  was  one 
which  in  these  times  would  be  considered  a  cruel  one,  and 
indeed  the  whole  enterprise  was  one  which  required  a  san 
guine  courage,  precisely  as  his;  for  I  have  said  that  risk  he 
always  held  as  challenge  and  invitation. 

"Does  thee  think  that  in  these  times  thee  should  go  so 
deeply  in  debt,"  asked  my  mother  of  him. 

"Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "that  is  why  I  have  gone  in  debt. 
Two  years  from  now,  and  the  value  of  these  lands  here  may 
have  been  cut  in  half.  Ten  years  from  now  the  coal  lands 
yonder  will  be  worth  ten  times  what  they  are  to-day." 

"John,"  she  said  to  him  suddenly,  "sell  those  coal  lands, 
or  a  part  of  them." 

"Now, that  I  could  not  do,"  he  answered,  "for  half  their 
value.  The  country  now  is  fuller  of  war  than  of  investment. 
But  come  peace,  come  war,  there  lies  a  fortune  for  us  all. 
For  my  share  there  remains  but  one  heavy  payment;  and 

41 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

to-morrow  I  ride  to  raise  funds  for  that  among  our  tenants 
and  elsewhere.  I  admit  that  my  bankers  are  shrewd  and 
severe — in  fact,  I  think  they  would  rather  see  the  payments 
forfeited  than  not.  As  Meriwether  is  away,  it  is  with  me 
to  attend  to  this  business  now." 

And  so,  with  this  prelude,  I  may  as  well  tell  without  more 
delay  what  evil  fortune  was  in  store  for  us. 

That  coming  day  my  father  rode  abroad  as  he  had  planned, 
taking  black  Satan  for  his  mount,  since  he  needed  to  travel 
far.  He  had  collected  from  various  sources,  as  his  account 
book  later  showed,  a  sum  of  over  five  thousand  dollars,  which 
he  must  have  had  in  gold  and  negotiable  papers  in  his  saddle 
bags.  During  his  return  home,  he  came  down  the  deep 
trough  road  which  ran  in  front  of  the  Sheraton  farms  and 
ours.  He  passed  near  to  a  certain  clump  of  bushes  at  the 
roadside.  And  there  that  happened  which  brought  to  a 
sudden  end  all  the  peace  and  comfort,  of  our  lives,  and  which 
made  me  old  before  my  time. 

I  heard  the  horse  Satan  whinny  at  our  lane  gate,  wildly, 
as  though  in  fright;  and  even  as  I  went  out  my  heart  stopped 
with  sudden  fear.  He  had  leaped  the  gate  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  lane.  His  bridle  rein  was  broken,  and  caught  at  his 
feet  as  he  moved  about,  throwing  up  his  head  in  fright  as 
much  as  viciousness.  I  hastily  looked  at  the  saddle,  but  it 
bore  no  mark  of  anything  unusual.  Not  pausing  to  look 
farther,  I  caught  the  broken  reins  in  my  hand,  and  sprung 
into  the  saddle,  spurring  the  horse  down  the  lane  and  over 
the  gate  again,  and  back  up  the  road  which  I  knew  my 
father  must  have  taken. 

There,  at  the  side  of  the  road,  near  the  clump  of  black 
berry  vines  and  sumac  growth,  lay  my  father,  a  long  dark 

42 


WHAT  COMETH  IN   THE  NIGHT 

blot,  motionless,  awesome,  as  I  could  see  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  now  just  rising  in  a  gap  of  the  distant  mountains.  I 
sprang  down  and  ran  to  him,  lifted  his  head,  called  to  him  in 
a  voice  so  hoarse  I  did  not  recognize  it.  I  told  him  that  it 
was  his  son  had  come  to  him,  and  that  he  must  speak.  So 
at  last,  as  though  by  sheer  will  he  had  held  on  to  this  time, 
he  turned  his  gray  face  toward  me,  and  as  a  dead  man, 
spoke. 

"Tell  your  mother,"  he  said;  "Tell  Meriwether— must 
protect — good-by." 

Then  he  said  "Lizzie!"  and  opened  wide  his  arms. 

Presently  he  said,  "Jack,  lay  my  head  down,  please." 
I  did  so.  He  was  dead,  there  in  the  moon. 

I  straightened  him,  and  put  my  coat  across  his  face,  and 
spurred  back  down  the  road  again  and  over  the  gate.  But 
my  mother  already  knew.  She  met  me  at  the  hall,  and  her 
face  was  white. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "I  know!" 

Then  the  servants  came,  and  we  brought  him  home,  and 
laid  him  in  his  own  great  room,  as  the  master  of  the  house 
should  lie  when  the  end  comes,  and  arrayed  him  like  the  gen 
tleman  he  was. 

Now  came  that  old  wire-hair,  Doctor  Bond,  his  mane 
standing  stiff  and  gray  over  a  gray  face,  down  which  tears 
rolled  the  first  time  known  of  any  man.  He  sent  my  mother 
away  and  called  me  to  him.  And  then  he  told  me  that  in 
my  father's  back  were  three  or  four  pierced  wounds,  no 
doubt  received  from  the  sharp  stubs  of  underbrushes  when 
he  fell.  But  this,  he  said,  could  hardly  have  been  the  cause 
of  death.  He  admitted  that  the  matter  seemed  mysterious 
to  him. 

43 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Up  to  this  time  we  had  not  thought  of  the  cause  of  this 
disaster,  nor  pondered  upon  motives,  were  it  worse  than 
accident.  Now  we  began  to  think.  Doctor  Bond  felt  in 
the  pockets  of  my  father's  coat;  and  so  for  the  first  time  we 
found  his  account  book  and  his  wallets.  Doctor  Bond  and 
I  at  once  went  out  and  searched  the  saddle  pockets  my 
father  had  carried.  They  were  quite  empty. 

All  this,  of  course,  proved  nothing  to  us.  The  most  that 
we  could  argue  was  that  the  horse  in  some  way  had  thrown 
his  rider,  and  that  the  fall  had  proved  fatal;  and  that  per 
haps  some  wandering  negro  had  committed  the  theft.  These 
conclusions  were  the  next  day  bad  for  the  horse  Satan, 
whom  I  whipped  and  spurred,  and  rode  till  he  trembled, 
meting  out  to  him  what  had  been  given  old  Klingwalla,  his 
sire,  for  another  murdering  deed  like  this.  In  my  brutal 
rage  I  hated  all  the  world.  Like  the  savage  I  was,  I  must 
be  avenged  on  something.  I  could  not  believe  that  my  father 
was  gone,  the  man  who  had  been  my  model,  my  friend,  my 
companion  all  my  life. 

But  in  time  we  laid  him  away  in  the  sunny  little  grave 
yard  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  back  of  the  little  stone  church 
at  Wallingford.  We  put  a  small,  narrow,  rough  little  slab 
of  sandstone  at  his  head,  and  cut  into  it  his  name  and  the 
dates  of  his  birth  and  death;  this  being  all  that  the  simple 
manners  of  the  Society  of  Friends  thought  fit.  "His  temple 
is  in  my  heart,"  said  my  mother;  and  from  that  day  to  her 
death  she  offered  tribute  to  him. 

Thus,  I  say,  it  was  that  I  changed  from  a  boy  into  a  man. 
But  not  the  man  my  father  had  been.  Life  and  business 
matters  had  hitherto  been  much  a  sealed  book  for  me.  I  was 
seized  of  consternation  when  a  man  came  riding  over  from 

44 


WHAT  COMETH  IN   THE  NIGHT 

the  little  Wallingford  bank,  asking  attention  to  word  from 
Abrams  &  Halliday,  bankers  of  Fredericksburg.  I  under 
stood  vaguely  of  notes  overdue,  and  somewhat  of  mortgages 
on  our  lands,  our  house,  our  crops.  I  explained  our  present 
troubles  and  confusion;  but  the  messenger  shook  his  head 
with  a  coldness  on  his  face  I  had  not  been  accustomed  to  see 
worn  by  any  at  Cowles'  Farms.  Sweat  stood  on  my  face 
when  I  saw  that  we  owed  over  fifteen  thousand  dollars — a 
large  sum  in  those  simple  days — and  that  more  would  pres 
ently  follow,  remainder  of  a  purchase  price  of  over  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  lands  I  had  never  seen.  I  looked  about 
me  at  the  great  house  of  Cowles'  Farms,  and  a  coldness  came 
upon  my  heart  as  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that  perhaps 
this  home  was  not  ours,  but  another's.  Anger  again  pos 
sessed  me  at  this  thought,  and  with  small  adieu  I  ordered  the 
man  from  the  place,  and  told  him  I  would  horsewhip  him  if 
he  lingered  but  a  moment.  Then,  too  late,  I  thought  of 
more  business-like  action,  and  of  following  the  advice  my 
father  had  given  me,  at  once  to  see  his  associate,  Colonel 
Meriwether.  Thereafter  I  consulted  my  mother. 

In  the  chaotic  state  of  affairs  then  existing,  with  the  excite 
ment  of  a  turbulent  election  approaching,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  all  commercial  matters  were  much  unsettled.  None 
knew  what  might  be  the  condition  of  the  country  after  the 
fall  elections;  but  all  agreed  that  now  was  no  time  to  advance 
money  upon  any  sort  of  credit.  As  to  further  pledges,  with 
a  view  to  raising  these  sums  now  due,  I  found  the  matter 
hopeless. 

Colonel  Sheraton  might,  perhaps,  have  aided  us,  but  him 
I  would  not  ask.  Before  this  time  I  had  acquainted  him  of 
my  intentions  in  regard  to  his  daughter;  and  now  I  went  to 

45 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

him  and  placed  the  matter  before  him,  explaining  to  him 
the  nature  of  our  affairs  and  announcing  my  intention  to 
make  a  quick  journey  to  the  West,  in  order  to  obtain  assist 
ance  from  Colonel  Meriwether,  of  whom  I  hoped  to  find 
instant  solution  of  the  financial  problems,  at  least.  It 
seemed  wise  for  me  to  place  before  Miss  Grace's  father  the 
question  of  advisability  of  allowing  her  to  remain  pledged  to 
a  man  whose  fortunes  were  in  so  sad  a  state.  I  asked  him 
what  was  right  for  me  to  do.  His  face  was  very  grave  as  he 
pondered,  but  he  said,  "If  my  girl's  word  has  been  passed, 
we  will  wait.  .  We  will  wait,  sir."  And  that  was  all  I  knew 
when  I  made  my  hurried  preparations  for  the  longest  journey 
I  had  at  that  time  ever  known. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

BEGINNING   ADVENTURES   IN   NEW  LANDS 

IN  THOSE  days  travel  was  not  so  easy  as  it  is  now.  I 
went  by  carriage  to  Washington,  and  thence  by  stage 
to  the  village  of  York  in  Pennsylvania,  and  again  by 
stage  thence  to  Carlisle  Barracks,  a  good  road  offering  thence 
into  the  western  countries.  In  spite  of  all  my  grief  I  was 
a  young  man,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  keen  exhilaration  in 
these  my  earliest  travels.  I  was  to  go  toward  that  great 
West,  which  then  was  on  the  tongue  of  all  the  South,  and 
indeed  all  the  East.  I  found  Pennsylvania  old  for  a  hundred 
years.  The  men  of  Western  Pennsylvania,  Ohio  and  New 
York  were  passing  westward  in  swarms  like  feeding  pigeons. 
Illinois  and  Iowa  were  filling  up,  and  men  from  Kentucky 
were  passing  north  across  the  Ohio.  The  great  rivers  of  the 
West  were  then  leading  out  their  thousands  of  settlers. 
Presently  I  was  to  see  those  great  trains  of  white-topped 
west-bound  wagons  which  at  that  time  made  a  distinguishing 
feature  of  American  life. 

At  this  Army  post,  which  then  was  used  as  a  drilling 
ground  for  the  cavalry  arm,  one  caught  the  full  flavor  of  the 
Western  lands,  heard  the  talk  of  officers  who  had  been  be 
yond  the  frontier,  and  saw  troops  passing  out  for  the  Western 
service.  Here  I  heard  also,  and  to  my  consternation,  quiet 
conversation  among  some  of  the  officers,  regarding  affairs  at 
our  National  capital.  Buchanan,  it  seems,  was  shipping 

47 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

arms  and  ordnance  and  supplies  to  all  the  posts  in  the 
South.  Disaffection,  fomented  by  some  secret,  unknown 
cause,  was  spreading  among  the  officers  of  the  Army.  I  was 
young;  this  was  my  first  journey;  yet  none  the  less  these 
matters  left  my  mind  uneasy.  I  was  eager  to  be  back  in 
Virginia,  for  by  every  sign  and  token  there  certainly  was 
trouble  ahead  for  all  who  dwelt  near  the  Potomac. 

Next  I  went  on  to  Harrisburg,  and  thence  took  rail  up  the 
beautiful  Susquehanna  valley,  deep  into  and  over  the  moun 
tains.  At  Pittsburg  I,  poor  provincial,  learned  that  all  this 
country  too  was  very  old,  and  that  adventures  must  be  sought 
more  than  a  thousand  miles  to  the  westward,  yet  a  con 
tinual  stir  and  bustle  existed  at  this  river  point.  A  great 
military  party  was  embarking  here  for  the  West — two  com 
panies  of  dragoons,  their  officers  and  mounts.  I  managed 
to  get  passage  on  this  boat  to  Louisville,  and  thence  to  the 
city  of  St.  Louis.  Thus,  finally,  we  pushed  in  at  the  vast 
busy  levee  of  this  western  military  capital. 

At  that  time  Jefferson  Barracks  made  the  central  depot 
of  Army  operations  in  the  West.  Here  recruits  and  supplies 
were  received  and  readjusted  to  the  needs  of  the  scattered 
outposts  in  the  Indian  lands.  Still  I  was  not  in  the  West, 
for  St.  Louis  also  was  old,  almost  as  old  as  our  pleasant 
valley  back  in  Virginia.  I  heard  of  lands  still  more  remote, 
a  thousand  miles  still  to  the  West,  heard  of  great  rivers  lead 
ing  to  the  mountains,  and  of  the  vast,  mysterious  plains,  of 
which  even  yet  men  spoke  in  awe.  Shall  I  admit  it — in  spite 
of  grief  and  trouble,  my  heart  leaped  at  these  thoughts.  I 
wished  nothing  so  much  as  that  I  might  properly  and  fitly 
join  this  eager,  hurrying,  keen-faced  throng  of  the  west 
bound  Americans.  It  seemed  to  me  I  heard  the  voice  of 

48 


BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS 

youth  and  life  beyond,  and  that  youth  was  blotted  out  be 
hind  me  in  the  blue  Virginia  hills. 

I  inquired  for  Colonel  Meriwether  about  my  hotel  in  the 
city,  but  was  unable  to  get  definite  word  regarding  his  where 
abouts,  although  the  impression  was  that  he  was  somewhere 
in  the  farther  West.  This  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  ride 
at  once  to  Jefferson  Barracks.  I  had  at  least  one  acquaint 
ance  there,  Captain  Martin  Stevenson  of  the  Sixth  Cavalry, 
a  Maryland  man  whom  we  formerly  met  frequently  when  he 
was  paying  suit  to  Kitty  Dillingham,  of  the  Shenandoah 
country.  After  their  marriage  they  had  been  stationed 
practically  all  of  the  time  in  Western  posts. 

I  made  my  compliments  at  Number  16  of  Officers'  Row, 
their  present  quarters  at  Jefferson.  I  found  Kitty  quite  as 
she  had  been  in  her  youth  at  home,  as  careless  and  wild,  as 
disorderly  and  as  full  of  good-heartedness.  Even  my  story, 
sad  as  it  was,  failed  to  trouble  her  long,  and  as  was  her 
fashion,  she  set  about  comforting  me,  upon  her  usual 
principle  that,  whatever  threatened,  it  were  best  be  blithe 
to-day. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "we'll  put  you  up  with  us,  right  here. 
Johnson,  take  Mr.  Cowles'  things;  and  go  down  to  the  city 
at  once  for  his  bags." 

"But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Kitty,"  I  protested,  "I  can't.  I  really 
must  be  getting  on.  I'm  here  on  business  with  Colonel 
Meriwether." 

"Never  mind  about  Colonel  Meriwether,"  rejoined  my 
hostess,  "we'll  find  him  later — he's  up  the  river  somewhere. 
Always  take  care  of  the  important  things  first.  The  most 
important  thing  in  the  whole  world  just  now  is  the  officers' 
ball  to-night.  Don't  you  see  them  fixing  up  the  dancing 

49 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

platform  on  Parade?  It's  just  as  well  the  K.  O.'s  away,  be 
cause  to-night  the  mice  certainly  are  going  to  play." 

It  seemed  good  to  hear  the  voice  of  friends  again,  and  I 
was  nothing  loath  to  put  aside  business  matters  for  the  time 
and  listen  to  Kitty  Stevenson's  chatter.  So,  while  I  hesi 
tated,  Johnson  had  my  hat  and  stick. 

The  city  of  St.  Louis,  I  repeat,  was  then  the  richest  and 
gayest  capital  of  the  West,  the  center  of  the  commercial  and 
social  life  of  West  and  South  alike.  Some  of  the  most  beau 
tiful  women  of  the  world  dwelt  there,  and  never,  I  imagine, 
had  belles  bolder  suitors  than  these  who  passed  through  or 
tarried  with  the  Army.  What  wonder  the  saying  that  no 
Army  man  ever  passed  St.  Louis  without  leaving  a  heart,  or 
taking  one  with  him?  What  wonder  that  these  gay  young 
beauties  emptied  many  an  Army  pocket  for  flowers  and 
gems,  and  only  filled  many  an  Army  heart  with  despondency 
in  return?  Sackcloth  lay  beyond,  on  the  frontier.  Ball 
followed  ball,  one  packed  reception  another.  Dinings  and 
sendings  of  flowers,  and  evening  love-makings — these  for  the 
time  seemed  the  main  business  of  Jefferson  Barracks.  Social 
exemptions  are  always  made  for  Army  men,  ever  more  gal 
lant  than  affluent,  and  St.  Louis  entertained  these  gentlemen 
mightily  with  no  expectation  of  equivalent;  yet  occasionally 
the  sons  of  Mars  gave  return  entertainments  to  the  limits, 
or  more  than  the  limits,  of  their  purses.  The  officers'  balls 
at  these  barracks  were  the  envy  of  all  the  Army;  and  I  doubt 
if  any  regimental  bands  in  the  service  had  reason  for  more 
proficiency  in  waltz  time. 

Of  some  of  these  things  my  hostess  advised  me  as  we  sat, 
for  the  sake  of  the  shade,  on  the  gallery  of  Number  16,  where 
Stevenson's  man  of  all  work  had  brought  a  glass-topped 

50 


BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS 

table  and  some  glasses.  Here  Captain  Stevenson  presently 
joined  us,  and  after  that  escape  was  impossible. 

"Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Cowles  is  engaged?"  asked  Kitty  of 
her  husband  impersonally,  and  apropos  of  nothing  that  I 
could  see. 

"I  don't  think  so.  He  looks  too  deuced  comfortable," 
drawled  Stevenson.  I  smiled. 

"If  he  isn't  engaged  he  will  be  before  morning,"  remarked 
Kitty,  smiling  at  me. 

"Indeed,  and  to  whom,  pray?"  I  inquired. 

"How  should  I  know?  Indeed,  how  should  you  know? 
Any  one  of  a  dozen — first  one  you  see — first  one  who  sees 
you;  because  you  are  tall,  and  can  dance." 

"I  hardly  think  I  should  dance." 

"Of  course  you  will  dance.  If  you  refuse  you  will  be  put 
in  irons  and  taken  out  to-morrow  and  shot.  It  will  do  you 
no  good  to  sit  and  think,  poor  boy." 

"I  have  no  clothes,"  I  protested. 

"Johnson  will  have  your  boxes  out  in  time.  But  you 
don't  want  your  own  clothes.  This  is  bal  masque,  of  course, 
and  you  want  some  sort  of  disguise.  I  think  you'd  look  well 
in  one  of  Matt's  uniforms." 

"That's  so,"  said  Stevenson,  "we're  about  of  a  size. 
Good  disguise,  too,  especially  since  you've  never  been  here. 
They'll  wonder  who  the  new  officer  is,  and  where  he  comes 
from.  I  say,  Kitty,  what  an  awfully  good  joke  it  would  be 
to  put  him  up  against  two  or  three  of  those  heartless  flirts 
you  call  your  friends — Ellen,  for  instance." 

"  There  won't  be  a  button  left  on  the  uniform  by  morning," 
said  Kitty  contemplatively.  "  To-night  the  Army  entertains." 

"And  conquers,"  I  suggested. 

51 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"Sometimes.  But  at  the  officers'  ball  it  mostly  surrend 
ers.  The  casualty  list,  after  one  of  these  balls,  is  something 
awful.  After  all,  Jack,  all  these  modern  improvements  in 
arms  have  not  superceded  the  old  bow  and  arrow."  She 
smiled  at  me  with  white  teeth  and  lazy  eyes.  A  handsome 
woman,  Kitty. 

"And  who  is  that  dangerous  flirt  you  were  talking  about  a 
moment  ago?"  I  asked  her,  interested  in  spite  of  myself. 

"I  lose  my  mess  number  if  I  dare  to  tell.  Oh,  they'll  all 
be  here  to-night,  both  Army  and  civilians.  There's  Sadie 
Galloway  of  the  Eighth,  and  Toodie  Devlin  of  Kentucky, 
and  the  Evans  girl  from  up  North,  and  Mrs.  Willie  Wei- 
land " 

"And  Mrs.  Matthew  Stevenson." 

"Yes,  myself,  of  course;  and  then  besides,  Ellen." 

"Ellen  who?" 

"Never  mind.  She  is  the  most  dangerous  creature  now 
at  large  in  the  Western  country.  Avoid  her!  Pass  not  by 
her!  She  stalketh  by  night.  She'll  get  you  sure,  my  son. 
She  has  a  string  of  hearts  at  her  will  as  long  as  from  here  to 
the  red  barn." 

"I  shall  dance  to-night,"  I  said.  "If  you  please,  I  will 
dance  with  her,  the  first  waltz." 

"Yes?"  She  raised  her  eyebrows.  "You've  a  nice  con 
ceit,  at  least.  But,  then,  I  don't  like  modest  men." 

"Listen  to  that,"  chuckled  Stevenson,  "and  yet  she  mar 
ried  me!  But  what  she  says  is  true,  Cowles.  It  will  be 
worse  than  Chapultepec  in  the  crowd  anywhere  around 
Ellen  to-night.  You  might  lose  a  leg  or  an  arm  in  the  crush, 
and  if  you  got  through,  you'd  only  lose  your  heart.  Better 
leave  her  alone." 

52 


BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS 

"Lord,  what  a  night  it'll  be  for  the  ball,"  said  Kitty, 
sweeping  an  idle  arm  toward  Parade,  which  was  now  filling 
up  with  strings  of  carriages  from  the  city.  We  could  see 
men  now  putting  down  the  dancing  floor.  The  sun  was 
sinking.  From  somewhere  came  the  faint  sound  of  band 
music,  muffled  behind  the  buildings. 

" Evening  gun!"  said  Stevenson  presently,  and  we  arose 
and  saluted  as  the  jet  of  smoke  burst  from  a  field  piece  and 
the  roar  of  the  report  brought  the  flag  fluttering  down. 
Then  came  strains  of  a  regimental  band,  breaking  out  into 
the  national  air;  after  which  the  music  slid  into  a  hurrying 
medley,  and  presently  closed  in  the  sweet  refrain  of  "Robin 
Adair,"  crooning  in  brass  and  reeds  as  though  miles  away. 
Twilight  began  to  fall,  and  the  lamps  winked  out  here  and 
there.  The  sound  of  wheels  and  hoofs  upon  the  gravel 
came  more  often.  Here  and  there  a  bird  twittered  gently  in 
the  trees  along  the  walks ;  and  after  a  time  music  came  again 
and  again,  for  four  bands  now  were  stationed  at  the  four 
corners  of  the  Parade.  (And  always  the  music  began  of 
war  and  deeds,  and  always  it  ended  in  some  soft  love  strain.) 
Groups  gathered  now  upon  the  balconies  near  the  mar 
quees  which  rose  upon  the  Parade.  Couples  strolled  arm  in 
arm.  The  scene  spoke  little  enough  of  war's  alarms  or  of 
life's  battles  and  its  sadness. 

A  carriage  passed  with  two  gentlemen,  and  drew  up  at 
the  Officers'  Club.  "  Billy  Williams,  adjutant,"  com 
mented  Captain  Stevenson  lazily.  "Who's  the  other?" 

"Yes,  who's  the  tall  one?"  asked  Kitty,  as  the  gentlemen 
descended  from  the  carriage.  "Good  figure,  anyhow;  won 
der  if  he  dances." 

"Coming  over,  I  believe,"  said  Stevenson,  for  now  the 

53 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

two  turned  our  way.  Stevenson  rose  to  greet  his  fellow 
officer,  and  as  the  latter  approached  our  stoop,  I  caught  a 
glance  at  his  companion. 

It  was  Gordon  Orme! 

Orme  was  as  much  surprised  on  his  own  part.  After  the 
presentations  all  around  he  turned  to  me  with  Kitty  Steven 
son.  "My  dear  Madam,"  he  said,  "you  have  given  me  the 
great  pleasure  of  meeting  again  my  shadow,  Mr.  Cowles,  of 
Virginia.  There  is  where  I  supposed  him  now,  back  home 
in  Virginia." 

"I  should  expect  to  meet  Mr.  Orme  if  I  landed  on  the 
moon,"  I  replied. 

"Er — Captain  Orme,"  murmured  Adjutant  Williams  to 
me  gently. 

So  then  my  preacher  had  turned  captain  since  I  saw  him 
last! 

"You  see,  Stevenson,"  went  on  Williams  easily,  "Captain 
Orme  was  formerly  with  the  British  Army.  He  is  traveling 
in  this  country  for  a  little  sport,  but  the  old  ways  hang  to  him. 
He  brings  letters  to  our  Colonel,  who's  off  up  river,  and  mean 
time,  I'm  trying  to  show  him  what  I  can  of  our  service." 

"So  good  of  you  to  bring  Captain  Orme  here,  Major. 
I'm  sure  he  will  join  us  to-night?"  Kitty  motioned  toward 
the  dancing  pavilion,  now  well  under  way.  Orme  smiled 
and  bowed,  and  declared  himself  most  happy.  Thus  in  a 
few  moments  he  was  of  our  party.  I  could  not  avoid  the 
feeling  that  it  was  some  strange  fate  which  continually 
brought  us  two  together. 

"The  Army's  rotten  for  want  of  service,"  grumbled  Wil 
liams,  following  out  his  own  pet  hobby.  "Nothing  in  the 
world  to  do  for  our  fellows  here.  Sport?  Why,  Captain 

54 


BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS 

Orme,  we  couldn't  show  you  a  horse  race  where  I'd  advise 
you  to  bet  a  dollar.  The  fishing  doesn't  carry,  and  the  shoot 
ing  is  pretty  much  gone,  even  if  it  were  the  season.  Outside 
of  a  pigeon  match  or  so,  this  Post  is  stagnant.  We  dance, 
and  that's  all.  Bah!" 

"Why,  Major,  you  old  ingrate,"  reproved  Kitty  Stevenson. 
"If  you  talk  that  way  we'll  not  let  you  on  the  floor  to-night." 

"You  spoke  of  pigeon  shooting,"  said  Orme  lazily,  "Blue 
rocks,  I  imagine?" 

"No,"  said  Williams,  "Natives — we  use  the  wild  birds. 
Thousands  of  them  around  here,  you  know.  Ever  do  any 
thing  at  it?" 

"  Not  in  this  country,"  replied  Orme.  "  Sometimes  I  have 
taken  on  a  match  at  Hurlingham;  and  we  found  the  Egyptian 
pigeons  around  Cairo  not  bad." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  little  match  at  our  birds?" 

"I  shouldn't  mind." 

"Oh,  you'll  be  welcome!  We'll  take  your  money  away 
from  you.  There  is  Bardine — or  say,  Major  Westover. 
Haskins  of  the  Sixth  got  eighty-five  out  of  his  last  hundred. 
Once  he  made  it  ninety-two,  but  that's  above  average,  of 
course. 

"You  interest  me,"  said  Orme,  still  lazily.  "  For  the  honor 
of  my  country  I  shouldn't  mind  a  go  with  one  of  your  gentle 
men.  Make  it  at  a  hundred,  for  what  wagers  you  like. " 

"And  when?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon,  if  you  say;  I'm  not  stopping  long, 
I  am  afraid.  I'm  off  up  river  soon." 

"Let's  see,"  mused  Williams.  "Haskins  is  away,  and  I 
doubt  if  Westover  could  come,  for  he's  Officer  of  the  Day, 

also  bottle-washer.     And " 

55 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"How  about  my  friend  Mr.  Cowles?"  asked  Orme.  "My 
acquaintance  with  him  makes  me  think  he'd  take  on  any 
sort  of  sporting  proposition.  Do  you  shoot,  sir?" 

"All  Virginians  do,"  I  answered.  And  so  I  did  in  the 
field,  although  I  had  never  shot  or  seen  a  pigeon  match  in 
all  my  life. 

"Precisely.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  will  you  allow  this  sort  of 
talk?" 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  said  Kitty.  "I'll  have  something  up 
myself  on  Mr.  Cowles.  ("Don't  let  him  scare  you,  Jack," 
she  whispered  to  me  aside.) 

That  was  a  foolish  speech  of  hers,  and  a  foolish  act  of  mine. 
But  for  my  part,  I  continually  found  myself  doing  things  I 
should  not  do. 

Orme  passed  his  cigarette  case.  "In  view  of  my  possibly 
greater  experience,"  he  said,  "I'd  allow  Mr.  Cowles  six  in 
the  hundred." 

"I  am  not  looking  for  matches,"  said  I,  my  blood  kindling 
at  his  accustomed  insolence;  "but  if  I  shot  it  would  be  both 
men  at  scratch." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  smiled  Orme.  "And  should  we  make  a 
little  wager  about  it — I  ask  your  consent,  Mrs.  Stevenson?" 

"America  forever!"  said  Kitty. 

What  could  I  do  after  that?  But  all  at  once  I  thought  of 
my  scanty  purse  and  of  the  many  troubles  that  beset  me,  and 
the  strange  unfitness  in  one  of  my  present  situation  engaging 
in  amy  such  talk.  In  spite  of  that,  my  stubborn  blood  had  its 
way  as  usual. 

"My  war  chest  is  light,"  I  answered,  "as  I  am  farther 
away  from  home  than  I  had  planned.  But  you  know  my 
black  horse,  Mr.  Orme,  that  you  fancied?" 

56 


BEGINNING  ADVENTURES  IN  NEW  LANDS 

"Oh,  by  Jove!  I'll  stake  you  anything  you  like  against 
him — a  thousand  pounds,  if  you  like." 

"The  odds  must  be  even,"  I  said,  "and  the  only  question 
is  as  to  the  worth  of  the  horse.  That  you  may  not  think  I 
overvalue  him,  however,  make  it  half  that  sum,  or  less,  if 
these  gentlemen  think  the  horse  has  not  that  value." 

"A  son  of  old  Klingwalla  is  worth  three  times  that,"  in 
sisted  Orme.  "If  you  don't  mind,  and  care  to  close  it, 
we'll  shoot  to-morrow,  if  Major  Williams  will  arrange  it." 

"Certainly,"  said  that  gentleman. 

"Very  well,"  I  said. 

"And  we  will  be  so  discourteous  to  the  stranger  within 
our  gates,"  said  the  vivacious  Kitty,  "as  to  give  you  a  jolly 
good  beating,  Captain  Orme.  We'll  turn  out  the  Post  to 
see  the  match.  But  now  we  must  be  making  ready  for  the 
serious  matters  of  the  evening.  Mr.  Orme,  you  dance,  of 
course.  Are  you  a  married  man — but  what  a  question  for 
me  to  ask— of  course  you're  not!" 

Orme  smiled,  showing  his  long,  narrow  teeth.  "I've 
been  a  bit  busy  for  that,"  he  said;  "but  perhaps  my  time  has 
come." 

"It  surely  has,"  said  Kitty  Stevenson.  "I've  offered  to 
wager  Mr.  Cowles  anything  he  liked  that  he'd  be  engaged 
before  twelve  o'clock.  Look,  isn't  it  nicely  done?" 

We  now  turned  toward  the  big  square  of  the  Parade, 
which  had  by  this  time  wholly  been  taken  over  for  the  pur 
poses  of  military  occupation.  A  vast  canopy  covered  the 
dancing  floor.  Innumerable  tents  for  refreshments  and  wide 
flapped  marquees  with  chairs  were  springing  up,  men  were 
placing  the  decorations  of  flags,  and  roping  about  the  dan 
cing  floor  with  braided  ribbons  and  post  rosettes.  Throngs 

57 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

now  filled  the  open  spaces,  and  more  carriages  continually 
came.  The  quarters  of  every  officer  by  this  time  were 
packed,  and  a  babel  of  chatter  came  from  every  balcony 
party.  Now  and  again  breathed  the  soft  music  from  the 
distant  military  bands.  It  was  a  gay  scene,  one  for  youth 
and  life,  and  not  for  melancholy. 

"Now,  I  wonder  who  is  this  Ellen?"  mused  I  to  myself. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   GIRL  WITH   THE   HEART 

CAPTAIN  STEVENSON  left  us  soon  after  dinner, 
he  being  one  of  the  officers'  committee  on  prepa 
rations  for  the  ball,  so  that  I  spent  a  little  time 
alone  at  his  quarters,  Orme  and  Major  Williams  having 
gone  over  to  the  Officers'  Club  at  the  conclusion  of  their 
call.  I  was  aroused  from  the  brown  study  into  which  I  had 
fallen  by  the  sound  of  a  loud  voice  at  the  rear  of  Number  16, 
and  presently  heard  also  Kitty's  summons  for  me  to  come. 
I  found  her  undertaking  to  remove  from  the  hands  of  Annie, 
her  ponderous  black  cook,  a  musket  which  the  latter  was 
attempting  to  rest  over  the  window  sill  of  the  kitchen. 

"Thar  he  goes  now,  the  brack  rascal!"  cried  Annie,  down 
whose  sable  countenance  large  tears  were  coursing.  "  Lemme 
get  one  good  shot  at  him.  I  can  shore  hit  him  that  clost." 

"Be  silent!  Annie,"  commanded  Kitty,  "and  give  me  this 
gun.  If  I  hear  of  your  shooting  at  Benjie  any  more  I'll  cer 
tainly  discharge  you. 

"You  see,"  explained  Kitty  to  me,  "Annie  used  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Benjie  Martin,  who  works  for  Colonel  Meri wether,  at 
the  house  just  beyond  the  trees  there." 

"I'se  married  to  him  yit,"  said  Annie,  between  sobs. 
"Heap  more  'n  that  taller- faced  yaller  girl  he  done  taken  up 
with  now." 

"I  think  myself,"  said  Kitty,  judicially,  "that  Benjie  might 
at  least  bow  to  his  former  wife  when  he  passes  by." 

59 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"That'd  be  all  I  wanted,"  said  Annie;  "but  I  kaint  stand 
them  horty  ways.  Why,  I  mended  the  very  shirt  he's  got 
on  his  back  right  now;  and  I  bought  them  shoes  fer  him." 

"Annie's  such  a  poor  shot!"  explained  Kitty.  "She  has 
taken  a  pot-shot  at  Benjie  I  don't  know  how  many  times, 
but  she  always  misses.  Colonel  Meriwether  sent  a  file  down 
to  see  what  was  going  on,  the  first  time,  but  when  I  explained 
it  was  my  cook,  he  said  it  was  all  right,  and  that  if  she  missed 
Benjie  it  harmed  no  one,  and  if  she  happened  to  kill  him  it 
would  be  only  what  he  deserved.  Annie's  the  best  cook  in 
the  Army,  and  the  Colonel  knows  it.  Aren't  you,  Annie?" 

"Ef  I  could  only  shoot  as  good  as  I  ken  cook,"  remarked 
Annie,  "it  would  be  a  powerful  sight  o'  res'  to  my  soul.  I 
shorely  will  git  that  nigger  yet." 

"Of  course  you  will,"  said  Kitty.  "Just  wait  till  to 
morrow  morning,  Annie,  and  when  he  starts  around  in  the 
yard,  you  take  a  rest  over  the  window  sill.  You  see,"  she 
resumed  to  me,  "we  try  to  do  everything  in  the  world  to  keep 
our  servants  happy  and  comfortable,  Mr.  Cowles. 

"But  now,  as  to  you,  sir,  it  is  time  you  were  getting  ready 
for  the  serious  business  of  the  evening.  Go  into  Matt's 
room,  there,  and  Johnson  will  bring  you  your  disguise." 

So  finally  I  got  into  Captain  Stevenson's  uniform,  which  I 
did  not  dislike,  although  the  coat  was  a  trifle  tight  across  the 
back.  At  the  domino  mask  they  fetched  I  hesitated,  for 
anything  like  mummery  of  this  sort  was  always  repugnant 
to  me.  Not  to  comply  with  the  order  of  the  day,  however, 
would  now  have  made  me  seem  rather  churlish,  so  presently, 
although  with  mental  reservations,  I  placed  myself  in  the 
hands  of  my  hostess,  who  joined  me  in  full  ball  costume, 
mask  and  all. 

60        % 


THE  GIRL  WITH   THE  HEART 

"You  may  know  me,"  said  Kitty,  "by  the  pink  flowers  on 
my  gown.  They're  printed  on  the  silk,  I  suspect.  When 
Matt  and  I  are  a  major,  we'll  have  them  hand  embroidered; 
but  a  captain's  pay  day  doesn't  come  half  often  enough  for 
real  hand  embroidery." 

"I  should  know  you  anywhere,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  I  said. 
"But  now  as  to  this  Ellen?  How  shall  I  know  her?" 

"You  will  not  know  her  at  all." 

"Couldn't  you  tell  me  something  of  how  she  will  look?" 

"No,  I've  not  the  slightest  idea.  Ellen  doesn't  repeat 
herself.  There'll  be  a  row  of  a  dozen  beauties,  the  most 
dangerous  girls  in  all  St.  Louis.  You  shall  meet  them  all, 
and  have  your  guess  as  to  which  is  Ellen." 

"And  shall  I  never  know,  in  all  the  world?" 

"Never  in  all  the  world.  But  grieve  not.  To-night  joy 
is  to  be  unconfined,  and  there  is  no  to-morrow." 

"And  one  may  make  mad  love  to  any?" 

"To  any  whom  one  madly  loves,  of  course;  not  to  twelve 
at  once.  But  we  must  go.  See,  isn't  it  fine?" 

Indeed  the  scene  on  Parade  was  now  gayer  than  ever. 
Laughter  and  chatter  came  from  the  crowded  galleries  all 
about  the  square,  whose  houses  seemed  literally  full  to  over 
flowing.  Music  mingled  with  the  sound  of  merry  voices, 
and  forsooth  now  and  again  we  heard  the  faint  popping  of 
corks  along  Officers'  Row.  The  Army  entertained. 

At  once,  from  somewhere  on  Parade,  there  came  the  clear 
note  of  a  bugle,  which  seemed  to  draw  the  attention  of  all. 
We  could  see,  ascending  the  great  flagstaff  at  the  end  of  its 
halyard,  the  broad  folds  of  the  flag.  Following  this  was 
hoisted  a  hoop  or  rim  of  torches,  which  paused  in  such  posi 
tion  that  the  folds  of  the  flag  were  well  illuminated.  A 

61 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

moment  of  silence  came  at  that,  and  then  a  clapping  of  hands 
from  all  about  the  Parade  as  the  banner  floated  out,  and  the 
voices  of  men,  deep  throated,  greeting  the  flag.  Again  the 
bands  broke  into  the  strains  of  the  national  anthem;  but 
immediately  they  swung  into  a  rollicking  cavalry  air.  As 
they  played,  all  four  of  the  bands  marched  toward  the  center 
of  the  Parade,  and  halted  at  the  dancing  pavilion,  where  the 
lighter  instruments  selected  for  the  orchestra  took  their  places 
at  the  head  of  the  floor. 

The  throngs  at  the  galleries  began  to  lessen,  and  from  every 
available  roof  of  the  Post  there  poured  out  incredible  num 
bers  of  gayly- dressed  ladies  and  men  in  uniform  or  evening 
garb,  each  one  masked,  and  all  given  over  fully  to  the  spirit 
of  the  hour. 

" To-night,"  said  Kitty  to  me,  "one  may  be  faithless,  and 
be  shriven  by  the  morning  sun.  Isn't  it  funny  how  these 
things  go?  Such  a  lot  of  fuss  is  made  in  the  world  by  ignor 
ing  the  great  fact  that  man  is  by  nature  both  gregarious  and 
polygamous.  Believe  me,  there  is  much  in  this  doctrine  of 
the  Mormons,  out  there  in  the  West!" 

"Yes,  look  at  Benjie,  for  instance,"  I  answered.  "It  is 
the  spell  of  new  faces." 

"You  see  a  face  on  the  street,  in  the  church,  passing  you, 
to  be  gone  the  next  instant  forever,"  she  mused.  "Once  I 
did  myself.  I  was  mad  to  follow  the  man.  I  saw  him  again, 
and  was  yet  madder.  I  saw  him  yet  again,  and  made  love  to 
him  madly,  and  then " 

"You  married  him,"  said  I,  knowing  perfectly  well  the 
devotion  of  these  two. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Kitty,  sighing  contentedly,  "it  was  Matt, 
of  course.  There's  something  in  that  'Whom  God  hath 

62 


THE  GIRL  WITH   THE  HEART 

joined  together.'  But  it  ought  to  be  God,  and  not  man,  that 
does  the  joining." 

"Suppose  we  talk  philosophy  rather  than  dance." 

"Not  I!  We  are  here  to-night  to  be  young.  After  all, 
Jack,  you  are  young,  and  so  is " 

"Ellen?" 

"Yes,  and  so  is  Ellen." 

The  floor  now  was  beginning  to  nil  with  dancers.  There 
moved  before  us  a  kaleidoscope  of  gay  colors,  over  which 
breathed  the  fragrance  of  soft  music.  A  subtle  charm  ema 
nated  from  these  surroundings.  Music,  the  sight  and  odor 
of  sweet  flowers,  the  sound  of  pleasant  waters,  the  presence 
of  things  beautiful — these  have  ever  had  their  effect  on  me. 
So  now  I  felt  come  upon  me  a  sort  of  soft  content,  and  I  was 
no  longer  moved  to  talk  philosophy. 

Sighing,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  was  young.  I  turned  to 
speak  to  my  hostess,  but  she  was  gone  on  business  of  her 
own.  So  there  I  stood  for  half  an  hour,  biting  my  thumb. 
I  had  as  yet  seen  nothing  of  the  mysterious  Ellen,  although 
many  a  score  of  eyes,  in  license  of  the  carnival,  had  flashed 
through  their  masks  at  me,  and  many  others  as  their  owners 
passed  by  in  the  dance  or  promenade  near  where  I  stood. 
Presently  I  felt  a  tug  at  my  sleeve. 

"Come  with  me,"  whispered  a  voice. 

It  was  Kitty.  We  passed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  dan 
cing  floor,  and  halted  at  the  front  of  a  wide  marquee,  whose 
flaps  were  spread  to  cover  a  long  row  of  seats. 

"Count  them,"  whispered  Kitty  hoarsely.  "There  are 
twelve!" 

And  so  indeed  there  were,  twelve  beautiful  young  girls,  as 
one  might  pronounce,  even  though  all  were  masked  with  half- 

63 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

face  dominos.  Half  of  them  were  dressed  in  white  and  half 
in  black,  and  thus  they  alternated  down  the  row.  Twelve 
hands  handled  divers  fans.  Twelve  pairs  of  eyes  looked 
out,  eyes  merry,  or  challenging,  or  mysterious,  one  could 
not  tell.  About  these  young  belles  gathered  the  densest 
throng  of  all  the  crowd.  Some  gentlemen  appeared  to  know 
certain  of  the  beauties,  but  these  had  hard  work  to  keep 
their  places,  for  continually  others  came,  and  one  after  an 
other  was  introduced  in  turn,  all  down  the  line,  as  presently 
it  was  to  be  my  fortune  to  be. 

"Is  she  here,  Mrs.  Kitty?"  I  whispered. 

"You  shall  guess.  Come."  And  so,  as  occasion  offered, 
I  was  put  through  this  ordeal,  by  no  means  an  easy  one.  At 
each  fair  charmer,  as  I  bowed,  I  looked  with  what  directness 
I  dared,  to  see  if  I  might  penetrate  the  mask  and  so  foil 
Kitty  in  her  amiable  intentions.  This  occupation  caused  me 
promptly  to  forget  most  of  the  names  which  I  heard,  and 
which  I  doubt  not  were  all  fictitious.  As  we  passed  out  at 
the  foot  of  the  row  I  recalled  that  I  had  not  heard  the  name 
of  Ellen. 

"Now  then,  which  one  is  she?"  I  queried  of  my  hostess. 

"  Silly,  do  you  want  me  to  put  your  hand  in  hers?  You  are 
now  on  your  own  resources.  Play  the  game."  And  the 
next  moment  she  again  was  gone. 

I  had  opportunity,  without  rudeness,  the  crowd  so  pressing 
in  behind  me,  to  glance  once  more  up  the  line.  I  saw,  or 
thought  I  saw,  just  a  chance  glance  toward  where  I  stood, 
near  the  foot  of  the  Row  of  Mystery,  as  they  called  it.  I 
looked  a  second  time,  and  then  all  doubt  whatever  vanished. 

If  this  girl  in  the  black  laces,  with  the  gold  comb  in  her 
hair,  and  the  gold-shot  little  shoes  just  showing  at  the  edge 

64 


THE  GIRL  WITH   THE  HEART 

of  her  gown,  and  the  red  rose  at  her  hair,  held  down  by  the 
comb — half  hidden  by  the  pile  of  locks  caught  up  by  the 
ribbon  of  the  mask — if  this  girl  were  not  the  mysterious 
Ellen,  then  indeed  must  Ellen  look  well  to  her  laurels,  for 
here,  indeed,  was  a  rival  for  her! 

I  began  to  edge  through  the  ranks  of  young  men  who 
gathered  there,  laughing,  beseeching,  imploring,  claiming. 
The  sparkle  of  the  scene  was  in  my  veins.  The  breath  of 
the  human  herd  assembled,  sex  and  sex,  each  challenging 
the  other,  gregarious,  polygamous. 

I  did  not  walk ;  the  music  carried  me  before  her.  And  so 
I  bowed  and  murmured,  "I  have  waited  hours  for  my  hostess 
to  present  me  to  Miss  Ellen."  (I  mumbled  the  rest  of 
some  imaginary  name,  since  I  had  heard  none.) 

The  girl  pressed  the  tip  of  her  fan  against  her  teeth  and 
looked  at  me  meditatively. 

"And  ours,  of  course,  is  this  dance,"  I  went  on. 

"If  I  could  only  remember  all  the  names — "  she  began 
hesitatingly. 

"I  was  introduced  as  Jack  C.,  of  Virginia." 

"Yes?    And  in  what  arm?" 

"Cavalry,"  I  replied  promptly.  "Do  you  not  see  the 
yellow?'1  I  gestured  toward  the  facings.  "  You  who  belong 
to  the  Army  ought  to  know." 

"Why  do  you  think  I  belong  to  the  Army?"  she  asked,  in 
a  voice  whose  low  sweetness  was  enough  to  impel  any  man 
to  catch  the  mask  from  her  face  and  throw  it  down  the  nearest 
well. 

"You  belong  to  the  Army,  and  to  Virginia,"  I  said,  "be 
cause  you  asked  me  what  is  my  arm  of  the  service;  and  be 
cause  your  voice  could  come  from  nowhere  but  Virginia. 

65 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Now  since  I  have  come  so  far  to  see  you  and  have  found  you 
out  so  soon,  why  do  you  not  confess  that  you  are  Miss  Ellen? 
Tell  me  your  name,  so  that  I  may  not  be  awkward!" 

"We  have  no  names  to-night,"  she  answered.  "But  I 
was  just  thinking;  there  is  no  Jack  C.  in  the  Gazette  who 
comes  from  Virginia  and  who  wears  a  captain's  straps.  I 
do  not  know  who  you  are." 

"At  least  the  game  then  is  fair,"  said  I,  disappointed. 
"But  I  promise  you  that  some  time  I  shall  see  you  face  to 
face,  and  without  masks.  To-morrow " 

"Tut,  tut!"  she  reproved.     "There  is  no  to-morrow!" 

I  looked  down  on  her  as  I  stood,  and  a  certain  madness 
of  youth  seized  hold  upon  me.  I  knew  that  when  she  rose 
she  would  be  just  tall  enough;  that  she  would  be  round,  full, 
perfect  woman  in  every  line  of  her  figure ;  that  her  hair  would 
be  some  sort  of  dark  brown  in  the  daylight;  that  her  eyes 
would  also  be  of  some  sort  of  darkness,  I  knew  not  what,  for 
I  could  not  see  them  fully  through  the  domino.  I  could  see 
the  hair  piled  back  from  the  nape  of  as  lovely  a  neck  as  ever 
caught  a  kiss.  I  could  see  at  the  edge  of  the  mask  that  her 
ear  was  small  and  close  to  the  head ;  could  see  that  her  nose 
must  be  straight,  and  that  it  sprang  from  the  brow  strongly, 
with  no  weak  indentation.  The  sweep  of  a  strong,  clean 
chin  was  not  to  be  disguised,  and  at  the  edge  of  the  mask  I 
caught  now  and  then  the  gleam  of  white,  even  teeth,  and  the 
mocking  smile  of  red,  strongly  curved  lips,  hid  by  her  fan  at 
the  very  moment  when  I  was  about  to  fix  them  in  my  memory, 
so  that  I  might  see  them  again  and  know.  I  suspect  she 
hid  a  smile,  but  her  eyes  looked  up  at  me  grandly  and  darkly. 
Nineteen,  perhaps  twenty,  I  considered  her  age  to  be;  gentle, 
and  yet  strong,  with  character  and  yet  with  tenderness,  I 

66 


THE  GIRL  WITH   TH£  HEART 

made  estimate  that  she  must  be;  and  that  she  had  more 
brains  than  to  be  merely  a  lay  figure  I  held  sure,  because 
there  was  something,  that  indefinable  magnetism,  what  you 
like  to  call  it,  which  is  not  to  be  denied,  which  assured  me 
that  here  indeed  was  a  woman  not  lightly  to  accept,  nor 
lightly  to  be  forgotten.  Ah,  now  I  was  seized  and  swept  on 
in  a  swift  madness.  Still  the  music  sang  on. 

"My  hostess  said  it  would  be  a  lottery  to-night  in  this  Row 
of  Mystery,"  I  went  on,  "but  I  do  not  find  it  so." 

"All  life  is  lottery,"  she  said  in  answer. 

"And  lotteries  are  lawful  when  one  wins  the  capital  prize. 
One  stretches  out  his  hand  in  the  dark.  But  some  one  must 
win.  I  win  now.  The  game  of  masks  is  a  fine  one.  I  am 
vastly  pleased  with  it.  Some  day  I  shall  see  you  without 
any  mask.  Come.  We  must  dance.  I  could  talk  better  if 
we  were  more  alone." 

As  I  live,  she  rose  and  put  her  hand  upon  my  arm  with  no 
further  argument;  why,  I  cannot  say,  perhaps  because  I  had 
allowed  no  other  man  to  stand  thus  near  hen 

We  stepped  out  upon  the  crowded  floor.  I  was  swept 
away  by  it  all,  by  the  waltz,  by  the  stars  above,  by  the  moon, 
by  the  breath  of  women  and  the  scent  of  their  hair,  and  the 
perfume  of  roses,  by  the  passion  of  living,  by  youth,  youth! 
Ah,  God!  ah,  God! — I  say  to  you,  it  was  sweet.  Whatever 
life  brings  to  us  of  age  and  sorrow,  let  us  remember  our 
youth,  and  say  it  was  worth  the  while.  Had  I  never  lived 
but  that  one  night,  it  had  been  worth  while. 

She  danced  as  she  stood,  with  the  grace  of  a  perfect  young 
creature,  and  the  ease  of  a  perfect  culture  as  well.  I  was  of 
no  mind  to  look  further.  If  this  was  not  Ellen,  then  there 
was  no  Ellen  there  for  me! 

67 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

Around  and  around  we  passed,  borne  on  the  limpid  shining 
stream  of  the  waltz  music,  as  melancholy  as  it  was  joyous, 
music  that  was  young;  for  youth  is  ever  full  of  melancholy 
and  wonder  and  mystery.  We  danced.  Now  and  again  I 
saw  her  little  feet  peep  out.  I  felt  her  weight  rest  light 
against  my  arm.  I  caught  the  indescribable  fragrance  of 
her  hair.  A  gem  in  the  gold  comb  now  and  then  flashed 
out;  and  now  and  again  I  saw  her  eyes  half  raised,  less  often 
now,  as  though  the  music  made  her  dream.  But  yet  I 
could  have  sworn  I  saw  a  dimple  in  her  cheek  through  the 
mask,  and  a  smile  of  mockery  on  her  lips. 

I  have  said  that  her  gown  was  dark,  black  laces  draping 
over  a  close  fitted  under  bodice ;  and  there  was  no  relief  to  this 
somberness  excepting  that  in  the  front  of  the  bodice  were 
many  folds  of  lacy  lawn,  falling  in  many  sheer  pleats,  edge 
to  edge,  gathered  at  the  waist  by  a  girdle  confined  by  a  simple 
buckle  of  gold.  Now  as  I  danced,  myself  absorbed  so  fully 
that  I  sought  little  analysis  of  impressions  so  pleasing,  I 
became  conscious  dimly  of  a  faint  outline  of  some  figure  in 
color,  deep  in  these  folds  of  lacy  lawn,  an  evanescent  spot  or 
blur  of  red,  which,  to  my  imagination,  assumed  the  outline 
of  a  veritable  heart,  as  though  indeed  the  girl's  heart  quite 
shone  through!  If  this  were  a  trick  I  could  not  say,  but  for 
a  long  time  I  resisted  it.  Meantime,  as  chance  offered  in 
the  dance — to  which  she  resigned  herself  utterly — I  went  on 
with  such  foolish  words  as  men  employ. 

"Ah,  nonsense!"  she  flashed  back. at  me  at  last.  "Dis 
cover  something  new.  If  men  but  knew  how  utterly  trans 
parent  they  are!  I  say  that  to-night  we  girls  are  but  spirits, 
to  be  forgot  to-morrow.  Do  not  teach  us  to  forget  before 
to-morrow  comes." 

68 


THE  GIRL  WITH   THE  HEART 

"I  shall  not  forget,"  I  insisted. 

"Then  so  much  the  worse." 

"I  cannot." 

"But  you  must." 

"I  will  not.     I  shall  not  allow " 

"How  obstinate  a  brute  a  man  can  be,"  she  remonstrated. 
''If  you  are  not  nice  I  shall  go  at  once." 

"I  dreamed  I  saw  a  red  heart,"  said  I.  "But  that  cannot 
have  been,  for  I  see  you  have  no  heart." 

"No,"  she  laughed.     "It  was  only  a  dream." 

"To-night,  then,  we  only  dream." 

She  was  silent  at  this.  "I  knew  you  from  the  very  first," 
I  reiterated. 

"What,  has  Kitty  talked?" 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh.  "Ah,  ha!"  I  said.  "I  thought 
no  names  were  to  be  mentioned!  At  least,  if  Kitty  has 
talked,  I  shall  not  betray  her.  But  I  knew  you  directly,  as 
the  most  beautiful  girl  in  all  the  city.  Kitty  said  that  much." 

"Oh,  thank  thee,  kind  sir!" 

"  Then  you  knew  I  was  a  Quaker?  Kitty  has  talked  again? 
I  had  forgotten  it  to-night,  and  indeed  forgotten  that  Quakers 
do  not  dance.  I  said  I  ought  not  to  come  here  to-night,  but 
now  I  see  Fate  said  I  must.  I  would  not  have  lived  all  my 
life  otherwise.  To-night  I  hardly  know  who  I  am." 

"Officer  and  gentleman,"  she  smiled. 

The  chance  compliment  came  to  me  like  a  blow.  I  was 
not  an  officer.  I  was  masking,  mumming,  I,  John  Cowles, 
who  had  no  right.  Once  more,  whither  was  my  folly  carry 
ing  me?  Suddenly  I  felt  saddened. 

"I  shall  call  you  The  Sorrowful  Knight,"  chided  my  fair 
companion." 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

11  Quite  as  well  as  any  name,  my  very  good  friend." 

"I  am  not  your  friend." 

"No,  and  indeed,  perhaps,  never  may  be." 

Her  spirit  caught  the  chill  of  this,  and  at  once  she  motioned 
the  edge  of  the  floor. 

"Now  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "There  are  very  many  to 
whom  I  am  promised."  I  looked  at  her  and  could  very  well 
believe  the  truth  of  that.  Many  things  revolved  in  my  mind. 
I  wondered  whether  if  after  all  Kitty  had  had  her  way ;  won 
dered  if  this  was  the  mysterious  Ellen,  and  if  after  all  she 
had  also  had  her  way!  Ah,  I  had  fallen  easily! 

"  Sir  Sorrowful,"  she  said,  "  take  me  back."  She  extended 
a  little  hand  and  a  round  arm,  whose  beauty  I  could  fully 
catch.  The  long  mousquetaires  of  later  days  were  then  not 
known,  but  her  hands  stood  perfectly  the  trying  test  of  white 
kids  that  ended  short  at  the  wrist. 

Reluctantly  I  moved  away  with  her  from  the  merry  throng 
upon  the  pavilion  floor.  At  the  edge  of  the  better  lighted 
circle  she  paused  for  a  moment,  standing  straight  and  draw 
ing  a  full,  deep  breath.  If  that  were  coquetry  it  was  perfect. 
I  swear  that  now  I  caught  the  full  outline  of  a  red,  red 
heart  upon  her  corsage! 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  as  I  left  her,  "you  are  Ellen,  and 
you  have  a  heart!  At  half  past  ten  I  shall  come  again. 
Some  day  I  shall  take  away  your  mask  and  your  heart." 

"Oh,  thank  thee!"  she  mocked  again. 

At  half  past  ten  I  had  kept  my  word,  and  I  stood  once  more 
at  the  Row  of  Mystery.  The  chairs  were  vacant,  for  the  blue 
coats  had  wrought  havoc  there!  A  little  apart  sat  a  blonde 
beauty  of  petite  figure,  who  talked  in  a  deep  contralto  voice, 
astonishing  for  one  so  slight,  with  a  young  lieutenant  who 

70 


THE  GIRL  WITH   THE  HEART 

leaned  close  to  her.  I  selected  her  for  Tudie  Devlin  of 
Kentucky.  She  whom  I  fancied  to  be  the  "Evans  girl  from 
up  North,"  was  just  promenading  away  with  a  young  man  in 
evening  dress.  A  brunette  whom  I  imagined  to  be  Sadie 
Galloway  of  the  Ninth  was  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair 
and  conversing  with  a  man  whom  I  could  not  see,  hidden  in 
the  shade  of  a  tent  fold.  I  looked  behind  me  and  saw  a  row 
of  disgruntled  gentlemen,  nervously  pacing  up  and  down. 
At  least  there  were  others  disappointed! 

I  searched  the  dancing  floor  and  presently  wished  I  had 
not  done  so.  I  saw  her  once  more — dancing  with  a  tall, 
slender  man  in  uniform.  At  least  he  offered  no  disguise  to 
me.  In  my  heart  I  resented  seeing  him  wear  the  blue  of  our 
government.  And  certainly  it  gave  me  some  pang  to  which 
I  was  not  entitled,  which  I  did  not  stop  to  analyze,  some  feel 
ing  of  wretchedness,  to  see  this  girl  dancing  with  none  less 
than  Gordon  Orme,  minister  of  the  Gospel,  captain  of  the 
English  Army,  and  what  other  inconsistent  things  I  knew 
not! 

"Buck  up,  Jack,"  I  heard  a  voice  at  my  side.  "Did  she 
run  away  from  you?" 

I  feigned  ignorance  to  Kitty.  "They  are  all  alike,"  said  I, 
indifferently.  "All  dressed  alike " 

"And  I  doubt  not  all  acted  alike." 

"I  saw  but  one,"  I  admitted,  "the  one  with  a  red  heart  on 
her  corsage." 

Kitty  laughed  a  merry  peal.  "There  were  twelve  red 
hearts,"  she  said.  "All  there,  and  all  offered  to  any  who 
might  take  them.  Silly,  silly !  Now,  I  wonder  if  indeed  you 
did  meet  Ellen?  Come,  I'll  introduce  you  to  a  hundred 
more,  the  nicest  girls  you  ever  saw." 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

"Then  it  was  Ellen?" 

"How  should  I  know?  I  did  not  see  you.  I  was  too  busy 
flirting  with  my  husband — for  after  awhile  I  found  that  it 
was  Matt,  of  course !  It  seems  some  sort  of  fate  that  I  never 
see  a  handsome  man  who  doesn't  turn  out  to  be  Matt." 

"I  must  have  one  more  dance,"  I  said. 

"Then  select  some  other  partner.  It  is  too  late  to  find 
Ellen  now,  or  to  get  a  word  with  her  if  we  did.  The  last  I 
saw  of  her  she  was  simply  persecuted  by  Larry  Belknap  of 
the  Ninth  Dragoons — all  the  Army  knows  that  he's  awfully 
gone  over  Ellen." 

"But  we'll  find  her  somewhere " 

"No,  Jack,  you'd  better  banish  Ellen,  and  all  the  rest. 
Take  my  advice  and  run  over  home  and  go  to  bed.  You 
forget  you've  the  match  on  for  to-morrow;  and  I  must  say, 
not  wanting  to  disturb  you  in  the  least,  I  believe  you're  going 
to  need  all  your  nerve.  There's  Scotch  on  the  sideboard, 
but  don't  drink  champagne." 

The  scene  had  lost  interest  to  me.  The  lights  had  paled, 
the  music  was  less  sweet. 

Presently  I  strolled  over  to  Number  16  and  got  Johnson 
to  show  me  my  little  room.  But  I  did  very  little  at  the 
business  of  sleeping;  and  when  at  last  I  slept  I  saw  a  long 
row  of  figures  in  alternate  black  and  white;  and  of  these 
one  wore  a  red  rose  and  a  gold  comb  with  a  jewel  in  it,  and 
her  hair  was  very  fragrant.  I  did  not  see  Grace  Sheraton 
in  my  dreams.  Clearly  I  reasoned  it  out  to  myself  as  I  lay 
awake,  that  if  I  had  seen  Ellen  once,  then  indeed  it  were  best 
for  me  I  should  never  see  Ellen  again! 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   SUPREME   COURT 

IF  REMORSE,  mental  or  physical,  affected  any  of  the 
dwellers  at  Jefferson  Barracks  on  the  morning  follow 
ing  the  officers'  ball,  at  least  neither  was  in  evidence. 
By  noon  all  traces  of  the  late  festivities  had  been  removed 
from  the  parade  ground,  and  the  routine  of  the  Post  went  on 
with  the  usual  mechanical  precision.  The  Army  had  enter 
tained,  it  now  labored.  In  a  few  hours  it  would  again  be 
ready  to  be  entertained;  the  next  little  event  of  interest 
being  the  pigeon  match  between  Orme  and  myself,  which 
swift  rumor  seemed  to  have  magnified  into  an  importance 
not  wholly  welcome  to  myself. 

We  had  a  late  breakfast  at  Number  16,  and  my  friend 
Stevenson,  who  was  to  handle  me  in  the  match,  saw  to  it  that 
I  had  a  hard  tubbing  before  breakfast  and  a  good  run  after 
ward,  and  later  a  hearty  luncheon  with  no  heavy  wines.  I 
was  surprised  at  these  business-like  proceedings,  which  were 
all  new  to  me,  and  I  reflected  with  no  satisfaction  that  my  hot- 
headedness  in  accepting  Orme's  challenge  might  result  in  no 
glory  to  myself,  and  worse  than  that,  let  in  my  friends  for 
loss ;  for  Stevenson  informed  me  that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
I  had  never  shot  in  a  race,  a  number  of  wagers  were  backing 
me  against  the  Englishman.  I  reasoned,  however,  that  these 
responsibilities  should  not  be  considered  by  one  who  needed 

73 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

perfect  command  of  himself.  Moreover,  although  I  had 
never  shot  at  trapped  birds,  I  reasoned  that  a  bird  in  the  air 
was  a  flying  bird  after  all,  whether  from  trap  or  tree.  Then, 
again,  I  was  offended  at  Orme's  air  of  superiority.  Lastly, 
though  it  might  be  the  fault  of  the  Cowles'  blood  to  accept 
any  sort  of  challenge,  it  was  not  our  way  to  regret  that  so 
soon  as  the  day  following. 

The  grounds  for  the  match  had  been  arranged  at  the  usual 
place,  near  to  the  edge  of  the  military  reservation,  and  here, 
a  half  hour  before  the  time  set,  there  began  to  gather  practi 
cally  all  of  the  young  officers  about  the  Post,  all  the  enlisted 
men  who  could  get  leave,  with  cooks,  strikers,  laundresses, 
and  other  scattered  personnel  of  the  barracks.  There  came 
as  well  many  civilians  from  the  city;  and  I  was  surprised  to 
see  a  line  of  carriages,  with  many  ladies,  drawn  up  back  of 
the  score.  Evidently  our  little  matter  was  to  be  made  a 
semi-fashionable  affair,  and  used  as  another  expedient  to 
while  away  ennui-ridden  Army  time. 

My  opponent,  accompanied  by  Major  Williams,  arrived 
at  about  the  same  time  that  our  party  reached  the  grounds. 
Orme  shook  hands  with  me,  and  declared  that  he  was  feeling 
well,  although  Williams  laughingly  announced  that  he  had 
not  been  able  to  make  his  man  go  to  bed  for  more  than  an 
hour  that  morning,  or  to  keep  him  from  eating  and  drinking 
everything  he  could  lay  his  hands  upon.  Yet  now  his  eye 
was  bright,  his  skin  firm,  his  step  light  and  easy.  That  the 
man  had  a  superb  constitution  was  evident,  and  I  knew  that 
my  work  was  cut  out  for  me,  for  Orme,  whatever  his  pro 
fession,  was  an  old  one  at  the  game  of  speedy  going.  As  a 
man  I  disliked  and  now  suspected  him.  As  an  opponent  at 
any  game  one  was  obliged  to  take  account  of  him. 

74 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

"What  boundary  do  we  use,  gentlemen?"  Orme  asked,  as 
he  looked  out  over  the  field.  This  question  showed  his 
acquaintance,  but  none  the  less  his  confidence  and  his  cour 
tesy  as  well,  for  in  closely  made  matches  all  details  are  care 
fully  weighed  before  the  issue  is  joined.  "I  am  more  used 
to  the  Monaco  bounds  of  eighteen  yards,"  he  added,  "but 
whatever  is  your  custom  here  will  please  me.  I  only  want 
to  have  a  notion  of  your  sport." 

"Our  races  here  have  usually  been  shot  at  fifty  yards 
bounds,"  said  Stevenson. 

"As  you  like,"  said  Orme,  "if  that  pleases  Mr.  Cowles." 

"Perfectly,"  said  I,  who  indeed  knew  little  about  the 
matter. 

Orme  stepped  over  to  the  coops  where  the  birds  were 
kept — splendid,  iridescent  creatures,  with  long  tails,  clean, 
gamy  heads  and  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  on  their  breasts. 
"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "they're  rippers  for  looks,  and  they 
should  fly  a  bit,  I'm  thinking.  I  have  never  seen  them 
before,  much  less  shot  a  race  at  them." 

"Still  your  advantage,"  said  I,  laughing,  "for  I  never  shot 
a  race  at  any  sort  in  my  life." 

"And  yet  you  match  against  me?  My  dear  fellow,  I 
hardly  like " 

"The  match  is  made,  Captain  Orme,  and  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Cowles  would  not  ask  for  any  readjustment,"  commented 
Stevenson  stiffly. 

"Don't  understand  me  to  wish  to  urge  anything,"  said 
Orme.  "I  only  wish  it  so  we  shall  all  have  a  chance  at 
revenge.  Is  there  any  one  who  wishes  to  back  me,  perhaps, 
or  to  back  Mr.  Cowles?  Sometimes  in  England  we  shoot  at 
a  guinea  a  bird  or  five,  or  ten."  Stevenson  shook  his  head. 

75 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"Too  gaited  for  me  at  this  time  of  the  month,"  he  said;  "but 
I'll  lay  you  a  hundred  dollars  on  the  issue." 

"Five  if  you  like,  on  the  Virginian,  sir,"  said  young 
Belknap  of  the  Ninth  to  Orme. 

"Done,  and  done,  gentlemen.  Let  it  be  dollars  and  not 
guineas  if  you  like.  Would  any  one  else  like  to  lay  a  little 
something?  You  see,  I'm  a  stranger  here,  but  I  wish  to  do 
what  will  make  it  interesting  for  any  of  you  who  care  to 
wager  something." 

A  few  more  wagers  were  laid,  and  the  civilian  element 
began  to  plunge  a  bit  on  Orme,  word  having  passed  that  he 
was  an  old  hand  at  the  game,  whereas  I  was  but  a  novice. 
Orme  took  some  of  these  wagers  carelessly. 

"Now  as  to  our  referee,  Captain,"  said  Stevenson.  "You 
are,  as  you  say,  something  of  a  stranger  among  us,  and  we 
wish  your  acquaintance  were  greater,  so  that  you  might  name 
some  one  who  would  suit  you." 

"I'm  indifferent,"  said  Orme  politely.  "Any  one  Mr. 
Cowles  may  name  will  please  me." 

His  conduct  was  handsome  throughout,  and  his  sporting 
attitude  made  him  many  friends  among  us.  I  suspect  some 
Army  money  went  on  him,  quietly,  although  little  betting 
was  now  done  in  our  presence. 

"I  see  Judge  Reeves,  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State, 
over  there  in  a  carriage,"  suggested  Major  Williams.  "I've 
very  much  a  notion  to  go  and  ask  him  to  act  as  our  referee." 

" God  bless  my  soul!"  said  Orme,  "this  is  an  extraordinary 
country!  What — a  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court?" 

Williams  laughed.  "You  don't  know  this  country,  Cap 
tain,  and  you  don't  know  Judge  Reeves.  He's  a  trifle  old, 
but  game  as  a  fighting  cock,  and  not  to  mention  a  few  duels 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

in  his  time,  he  knows  more  even  about  guns  and  dogs  to-day 
than  he  does  about  law.  He'll  not  be  offended  if  I  ask  him, 
and  here  goes." 

He  edged  off  through  the  crowd,  and  we  saw  him  engaged 
in  earnest  conversation  with  the  judge.  To  our  surprise 
and  amusement  we  observed  the  judge  climb  hastily  down 
out  of  his  carnage  and  take  Major  Williams'  arm. 

Judge  Reeves  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  whose  long  hair  and 
beard  were  silvery  white,  yet  his  stature  was  erect  and  vig 
orous.  It  was  always  said  of  him  that  he  was  the  most  dig 
nified  man  in  the  State  of  Missouri,  and  that  he  carried  this 
formality  into  every  detail  of  his  daily  life.  The  story  ran 
that  each  night,  when  he  and  his  aged  consort  retired,  they 
stood,  each  with  candle  in  hand,  on  either  side  of  the  great 
bed  which  all  their  married  life  they  had  occupied  in  har 
mony.  She,  formally  bowing  to  him  across  the  bed,  said 
" Good-night,  Judge  Reeves";  whereat  he,  bowing  with  yet 
greater  formality,  replied,  "  Good-night,  Mrs.  Reeves."  Each 
then  blew  out  the  candle,  and  so  retired!  I  cannot  vouch  as 
to  the  truth  of  this  story,  or  of  the  further  report  that  they 
carried  out  their  ceremony  when  seating  themselves  at  table, 
each  meal  of  the  day ;  but  I  will  say  that  the  appearance  of 
this  gentleman  would  have  given  such  stories  likelihood. 

We  uncovered  as  the  judge  approached  us,  and  he  shook 
hands  with  us  in  the  most  solemn  way,  his  own  wide  black 
hat  in  his  hand.  "A — a — hem,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "a 
somewhat  unusual  situation  for  one  on  the  bench — most 
unusual,  I  may  say.  But  the  Court  can  see  no  harm  in  it, 
since  no  law  of  the  land  is  violated.  Neither  does  the  Court 
hold  it  beneath  the  dignity  of  its  office  to  witness  this  little 
trial  of  skill  between  gentlemen.  Further  speaking,  the 

77 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Court  does  not  here  pass  upon  questions  of  law,  but  sits 
rather  as  jury  in  matters  of  ocular  evidence,  with  the  simple 
duty  of  determining  whether  certain  flying  objects  fall  upon 
this  or  the  other  side  of  that  certain  line  marked  out  as  the 
boundaries.  Gentlemen,  I  am,  a — hem,  yours  with  great 
pleasure."  If  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  it  was  a  very 
solemn  one.  I  venture  to  say  he  would  have  lost  no  votes 
at  the  next  election  were  he  up  for  office. 

"Is  the  case  ready  for  argument?"  presently  asked  the 
judge,  benignly.  Williams  and  Stevenson  both  replied  "All 
ready." 

"I  suggest  that  the  gentlemen  place  their  ammunition  and 
loading  tools  upon  the  head  of  the  cask  at  my  right,"  said 
the  judge.  "I  presume  it  to  be  understood  that  each  may 
employ  such  charge  as  he  prefers,  and  that  each  shall  load 
his  own  piece?"  The  seconds  assented  to  this.  Of  course, 
in  those  days  only  muzzle  loaders  were  used,  although  we  had 
cut-felt  wads  and  all  the  improvements  in  gunnery  known  at 
that  time.  My  weapon  was  supplied  me  by  Captain  Steven 
son — a  good  Manton,  somewhat  battered  up  from  much  use, 
but  of  excellent  even  pattern.  Orme  shot  a  Pope-made  gun 
of  London,  with  the  customary  straight  hand  and  slight  drop 
of  the  English  makes.  I  think  he  had  brought  this  with  him 
on  his  travels. 

"Shall  the  firing  be  with  the  single  barrel,  or  with  both 
barrels?"  inquired  our  referee.  In  those  days  many  Amer 
ican  matches  were  shot  from  plunge  traps,  and  with  the  single 
barrel. 

"I'm  more  used  to  the  use  of  both  barrels,"  suggested 
Orme,  "but  I  do  not  insist." 

"It  is  the  same  to  me,"  I  said.     So  finally  we  decided  that 

78 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

the  rise  should  be  at  twenty-eight  yards,  the  use  of  both  bar 
rels  allowed,  and  the  boundary  at  fifty  yards — such  rules  as 
came  to  be  later  more  generally  accepted  in  this  country. 

"Gentlemen,  I  suggest  that  you  agree  each  bird  to  be 
gathered  fairly  by  the  hand,  each  of  you  to  select  a  gatherer. 
Each  gentleman  may  remunerate  his  gatherer,  but  the  said 
remuneration  shall  in  each  case  remain  the  same.  Is  that 
satisfactory?"  We  agreed,  and  each  tossed  a  silver  dollar 
to  a  grinning  darky  boy. 

"Now,  then,  gentlemen,  the  Court  is  informed  that  this 
match  is  to  be  for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars, 
wagered  by  Captain  Orme,  against  a  certain  black  stallion 
horse,  the  same  not  introduced  in  evidence,  but  stated  by 
Mr.  Cowles  to  be  of  the  value  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars 
in  the  open  market.  As  the  match  is  stated  to  be  on  even 
terms,  the  said  John  Cowles  guarantees  this  certain  horse 
to  be  of  such  value,  or  agrees  to  make  good  any  deficit  in 
that  value.  Is  that  understood,  gentlemen?" 

"I  did  not  ask  any  guarantee,"  said  Orme.  "I  know  the 
horse,  and  he  is  worth  more  than  twice  that  sum.  You  are 
using  me  very  handsomely,  gentlemen." 

"Judge  Reeves  is  right,"  said  I.  "The  match  is  to  be 
even."  We  bowed  to  each  other. 

The  judge  felt  in  his  pockets.  "Ahem,  gentlemen,"  he 
resumed.  "The  Court  being,  as  it  were,  broke,  will  some 
one  be  so  good  as  to  lend  the  Court  a  silver  coin?  Thank 
you,"  to  Williams,  "and  now,  gentlemen,  will  you  toss  for  the 
order  of  precedence?" 

We  threw  the  coin,  and  I  lost  the  toss.  Orme  sent  me  to 
the  score  first,  with  the  purpose,  as  I  knew,  of  studying  his 
man. 

79 


THE  WAY  OF  A   MAN 

I  loaded  at  the  open  bowls,  and  adjusted  the  caps  as  I 
stepped  to  the  score.  I  was  perhaps  a  bit  too  tense  and  eager, 
although  my  health  and  youth  had  never  allowed  me  to  be  a 
victim  of  what  is  known  as  nervousness.  Our  birds  were  to 
be  flown  by  hand  from  behind  a  screen,  and  my  first  bird 
started  off  a  trifle  low,  but  fast,  and  I  knew  I  was  not  on  with 
the  first  barrel,  the  hang  of  Stevenson's  gun  being  not  quite 
the  same  as  my  own.  I  killed  it  with  the  second,  but  it 
struggled  over  the  tape. 

"Lost  bird!"  called  out  Judge  Reeves  sharply  and  dis 
tinctly;  and  it  was  evident  that  now  he  would  be  as  decisive 
as  he  had  hitherto  been  deliberate. 

Under  the  etiquette  of  the  game  no  comment  was  made 
on  my  mishap,  and  my  second,  Stevenson,  did  not  make  the 
mistake  of  commiserating  me.  No  one  spoke  a  word  as 
Orme  stepped  to  the  score.  He  killed  his  bird  as  clean  as 
though  he  had  done  nothing  else  all  his  life,  and  indeed,  I 
think  he  was  half  turned  about  from  the  score  before  the  bird 
was  down.  "Dead  bird!"  called  the  referee,  with  jaw  clos 
ing  like  a  steel  trap. 

Stevenson  whispered  to  me  this  time.  "Get  full  on  with 
your  first,"  he  said.  "They're  lead-packers — old  ones, 
every  one,  and  a  picked  lot." 

I  was  a  trifle  angry  with  myself  by  this  time,  but  it  only  left 
me  well  keyed.  My  bird  fell  dead  inside  of  Orme's.  A  mur 
mur  of  applause  ran  down  the  line.  "Silence  in  the  court," 
thundered  Judge  Reeves. 

We  shot  along  for  ten  birds,  and  Orme  was  straight,  to  my 
nine  killed.  Stevenson  whispered  to  me  once  more.  "Take 
it  easy,  and  don't  be  worried  about  it.  It's  a  long  road  to  a 
hundred.  Don't  think  about  your  next  bird,  and  don't 

80 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

worry  whether  he  kills  his  or  not.  Just  you  kill  'em  one  at 
a  time  and  kill  each  one  dead.  You  mustn't  think  of  any 
thing  on  earth  but  that  one  bird  before  you." 

This  was  excellent  advice  in  the  game,  and  I  nodded  to 
him.  Whatever  the  cause,  I  was  by  this  time  perfectly  calm. 
I  was  now  accustomed  to  my  gun,  and  had  confidence  in  it. 
I  knew  I  could  shoot  to  the  top  of  my  skill,  and  if  I  were 
beaten  it  would  be  through  no  fault  of  my  own  nerves  and 
muscles,  but  through  the  luck  of  the  birds  or  the  greater  skill 
of  the  other  man. 

Orme  went  on  as  though  he  could  kill  a  hundred  straight. 
His  time  was  perfect,  and  his  style  at  the  trap  beautiful.  He 
shot  carelessly,  but  with  absolute  confidence,  and  more  than 
half  the  time  he  did  not  use  his  second  barrel. 

"Old  Virginia  never  tires,"  whispered  Stevenson.  " He'll 
come  back  to  you  before  long,  never  fear." 

But  Orme  made  it  twenty  straight  before  he  came  back. 
Then  he  caught  a  strong  right-quarterer,  which  escaped 
altogether,  apparently  very  lightly  hit.  No  one  spoke  a 
word  of  sympathy  or  exultation,  but  I  caught  the  glint  of 
Stevenson's  eye.  Orme  seemed  not  in  the  least  disturbed. 

We  were  now  tied,  but  luck  ran  against  us  both  for  a  time, 
since  out  of  the  next  five  I  missed  three  and  Orme  two,  and 
the  odds  again  were  against  me.  It  stood  the  same  at  thirty, 
and  at  thirty-five.  At  forty  the  fortune  of  war  once  more 
favored  me,  for  although  Orme  shot  like  a  machine,  with  a 
grace  and  beauty  of  delivery  I  have  never  seen  surpassed, 
he  lost  one  bird  stone  dead  over  the  line,  carried  out  by  a 
slant  of  the  rising  wind,  which  blew  from  left  to  right  across 
the  field.  Five  birds  farther  on,  yet  another  struggled  over 
for  him,  and  at  sixty-five  I  had  him  back  of  me  two  birds. 

81 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

The  interest  all  along  the  line  was  now  intense.  Stevenson 
later  told  me  that  they  had  never  seen  such  shooting  as  we 
were  doing.  For  myself,  it  did  not  seem  that  I  could  miss. 
I  doubt  not  that  eventually  I  must  have  won,  for  fate  does 
not  so  favor  two  men  at  the  same  hour. 

We  went  on  slowly,  as  such  a  match  must,  occasionally 
pausing  to  cool  our  barrels,  and  taking  full  time  with  the 
loading.  Following  my  second's  instructions  perfectly,  I 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  not  even  watching 
Orme.  I  heard  the  confusion  of  low  talk  back  of  us,  and 
knew  that  a  large  crowd  had  assembled,  but  I  did  not  look 
toward  the  row  of  carriages,  nor  pay  attention  to  the  new 
arrivals  which  constantly  came  in.  We  shot  on  steadily, 
and  presently  I  lost  a  bird,  which  came  in  sharply  to  the 
left. 

The  heap  of  dead  birds,  some  of  them  still  fluttering  in  their 
last  gasps,  now  grew  larger  at  the  side  of  the  referee,  and  the 
negro  boys  were  perhaps  less  careful  to  wring  the  necks  of  the 
birds  as  they  gathered  them.  Occasionally  a  bird  was  tossed 
in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  a  fluttering  wing.  Wild  pigeons 
decoy  readily  to  any  such  sign,  and  I  noticed  that  several 
birds,  rising  in  such  position  that  they  headed  toward  the 
score,  were  incomers,  and  very  fast.  My  seventieth  bird  was 
such,  and  it  came  straight  and  swift  as  an  arrow,  swooping 
down  and  curving  about  with  the  great  speed  of  these  birds 
when  fairly  on  the  wing.  I  covered  it,  lost  sight  of  it,  then 
suddenly  realized  that  I  must  fire  quickly  if  I  was  to  reach  it 
before  it  crossed  the  score.  It  was  so  close  when  I  fired  that 
the  charge  cut  away  the  quills  of  a  wing.  It  fell,  just  inside 
the  line,  with  its  head  up,  and  my  gatherer  pounced  upon  it 
like  a  cat.  The  decision  of  the  referee  was  prompt,  but  even 

82 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

so,  it  was  almost  lost  in  the  sudden  stir  and  murmur  which 
arose  behind  us. 

Some  one  came  pushing  through  the  crowd,  evidently  hav 
ing  sprung  down  from  one  of  the  carriages.  I  turned  to  see 
a  young  girl,  clad  in  white  lawn,  a  thin  silver-gray  veil  drawn 
tight  under  her  chin,  who  now  pushed  forward  through  the 
men,  and  ran  up  to  the  black  boy  who  stood  with  the  bird  in 
his  hand,  hanging  by  one  wing.  She  caught  it  from  him, 
and  held  it  against  her  breast,  where  its  blood  drabbled  her 
gown  and  hands.  I  remember  I  saw  one  drop  of  blood  at 
its  beak,  and  remember  how  glad  I  was  that  the  bird  was  in 
effect  dead,  so  that  a  trying  scene  would  soon  be  ended. 

"Stop  this  at  once!"  cried  the  girl,  raising  an  imperative 
hand.  "Aren't  you  ashamed,  all  of  you?  Look,  look  at 
this!"  She  held  out  the  dying  bird  in  her  hand.  "Judge 
Reeves,"  she  cried,  "what  are  you  doing  there?" 

Our  decisive  referee  grew  suddenly  abashed.  "Ah — ah, 
my  dear  young  lady — my  very  dear  young  lady,"  he  began. 

"Captain  Stevenson,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  whirling  sud 
denly  on  my  second,  "stop  this  at  once!  I'm  ashamed  of 
you." 

"Now,  now,  my  dear  Miss  Ellen,"  began  Stevenson, 
"can't  you  be  a  good  fellow  and  run  back  home?  We're 
off  the  reservation,  and  really — this,  you  see,  is  a  judge 
of  the  Supreme  Court!  We're  doing  nothing  unlawful." 
He  motioned  toward  Judge  Reeves,  who  looked  suddenly 
uncomfortable. 

Major  Williams  added  his  counsel.  "It  is  a  little  sport 
between  Captain  Orme  and  Mr.  Cowles,  Miss  Ellen." 

"Sport,  great  sport,  isn't  it?"  cried  the  girl,  holding  out 
her  drabbled  hands.  "Look  there" — she  pointed  toward 

83 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

the  pile  of  dead  birds — "  hundreds  of  these  killed,  for  money, 
for  sport.  It  isn't  sport.  You  had  all  these  birds  once,  you 
owned  them." 

And  there  she  hit  a  large  truth,  with  a  woman's  guess, 
although  none  of  us  had  paused  to  consider  it  so  before. 

"The  law,  Miss  Ellen,"  began  Judge  Reeves,  clearing  his 
throat,  "allows  the  reducing  to  possession  of  animals  jerce 
natura,  that  is  to  say,  of  wild  nature,  and  ancient  custom 
sanctions  it." 

"They  were  already  reduced"  she  flashed.  "The  sport 
was  in  getting  them  the  first  time,  not  in  butchering  them 
afterward." 

Stevenson  and  Williams  rubbed  their  chins  and  looked  at 
each  other.  As  for  me,  I  was  looking  at  the  girl;  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  never  in  my  life  had  I  seen  one  so  beauti 
ful. 

Her  hair,  reddish  brown  in  the  sunlight,  was  massed  up 
by  the  binding  veil,  which  she  pushed  back  now  from  her 
face.  Her  eyes,  wide  and  dark,  were  as  sad  as  they  were 
angry.  Tears  streamed  from  them  down  her  cheek,  which 
she  did  not  dry.  Fearless,  eager,  she  had,  without  thought, 
intruded  where  the  average  woman  would  not  have  ventured, 
and  she  stood  now  courageously  intent  only  upon  having  the 
way  of  what  she  felt  was  right  and  justice.  There  came  to  me 
as  I  looked  at  her  a  curious  sense  that  I  and  all  my  friends 
were  very  insignificant  creatures;  and  it  was  so,  I  think,  in 
sooth,  she  held  us. 

"Captain  Orme,"  said  I  to  my  opponent,  "you  observe 
the  actual  Supreme  Court  of  America  1"  He  bowed  to  me, 
with  a  questioning  raising  of  his  eyebrows,  as  though  he  did 
not  like  to  go  on  under  the  circumstances. 


THE  SUPREME  COURT 

"I  am  unfortunate  to  lead  by  a  bird,"  said  I,  tentatively. 
For  some  reason  the  sport  had  lost  its  zest  to  me. 

"And  I  being  the  loser  as  it  stands,"  replied  Orme,  "do 
not  see  how  I  can  beg  off."  Yet  I  thought  him  as  little 
eager  to  go  on  as  I  myself. 

"Miss  Ellen,"  said  Judge  Reeves,  removing  the  hat  from 
his  white  hair,  "  these  gentlemen  desire  to  be  sportsmen  as 
among  themselves,  but  of  course  always  gentlemen  as  re 
gards  the  wish  of  ladies.  Certain  financial  considerations  are 
involved,  so  that  both  feel  a  delicacy  in  regard  to  making 
any  motion  looking  to  the  altering  of  the  original  conditions 
of  this  contract.  Under  these  circumstances,  then,  appeal  is 
taken  from  this  lower  Court" — and  he  bowed  very  low — "to 
what  my  young  friend  very  justly  calls  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States.  Miss  Ellen,  it  is  for  you  to  say  whether 
we  shall  resume  or  discontinue." 

The  girl  bowed  to  Judge  Reeves,  and  then  swept  a  sudden 
hand  toward  Stevenson  and  Williams.  "Go  home,  all  of 
you!"  she  said. 

And  so,  in  sooth,  much  shamefaced,  we  did  go  home, 
Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court,  officers  of  the  Army,  and  all, 
vaguely  feeling  we  had  been  caught  doing  some  ignoble 
thing.  For  my  part,  although  I  hope  mawkishness  no  more 
marks  me  than  another,  and  although  I  made  neither  then 
nor  at  any  time  a  resolution  to  discontinue  sports  of  the  field, 
I  have  never  since  then  shot  in  a  pigeon  match,  nor  cared  to 
see  others  do  so,  for  it  has  never  again  seemed  to  me  as 
actual  sport.  I  think  the  intuitive  dictum  of  the  Army  girl 
was  right. 

"Now  wasn't  that  like  Ellen!"  exclaimed  Kitty,  when 
finally  we  found  ourselves  at  her  carriage — "just  like  that  girl. 

85 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Just  wasn't  it  like  that  girl!  To  fly  in  the  face  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  State,  and  all  the  laws  of  sport  as  well! 
Jack,  I  was  keeping  count,"  she  held  out  her  ivory  tablets. 
"You'd  have  beaten  him  sure,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  do 
it.  You  were  one  ahead,  and  would  have  made  it  better  in 
the  next  twenty-five.  Oh,  won't  I  talk  to  that  girl  when  I 
see  her!" 

"So  that  was  Ellen!"  I  said  to  Kitty. 

"The  very  same.  Now  you've  seen  her.  What  you 
think  I  don't  know,  but  what  she  thinks  of  you  is  pretty 
evident." 

"You  were  right,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  I.  "She's  desperately 
good  looking.  But  that  isn't  the  girl  I  danced  with  last 
night.  In  the  name  of  Providence,  let  me  get  away  from 
this  country,  for  I  know  not  what  may  happen  to  me!  No 
man  is  safe  in  this  neighborhood  of  beauties." 

"Let's  all  go  home  and  get  a  bite  to  eat,"  said  Stevenson, 
with  much  common  sense.  "You've  got  glory  enough  just 
the  way  it  stands." 

So  that  was  Ellen!  And  it  moreover  was  none  less  than 
Ellen  Meriwether,  daughter  of  my  father's  friend  and  busi 
ness  associate,  whom  I  had  traveled  thus  far  to  see, and  whom, 
as  I  now  determined,  I  must  meet  at  the  very  first  possible 
opportunity.  Perhaps,  then,  it  might  very  naturally  come 
about  that — but  I  dismissed  this  very  rational  supposition 
as  swiftly  as  I  was  able. 


86 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  MORNING   AFTER 

EVENTS  had  somewhat  hurried  me  in  the  two  days 
since  my  arrival  at  Jefferson  Barracks,  but  on  the 
morning  following  the  awkward  ending  of  my 
match  with  Orme  I  had  both  opportunity  and  occasion  to 
take  stock  of  myself  and  of  my  plans.  The  mails  brought 
me  two  letters,  posted  at  Wallingford  soon  after  my  depart 
ure;  one  from  Grace  Sheraton  and  one  from  my  mother. 
The  first  one  was — what  shall  I  say?  Better  perhaps  that  I 
should  say  nothing,  save  that  it  was  like  Grace  Sheraton  her 
self,  formal,  correct  and  cold.  It  was  the  first  written  word 
I  had  ever  received  from  my  fiance'e,  and  I  had  expected — I 
do  not  know  what.  At  least  I  had  thought  to  be  warmed, 
comforted,  consoled  in  these  times  of  my  adversity.  It 
seemed  to  my  judgment,  perhaps  warped  by  sudden  mis 
fortune,  that  possibly  my  fiancee  regretted  her  hasty  promise, 
rued  an  engagement  to  one  whose  affairs  had  suddenly 
taken  an  attitude  of  so  little  promise.  I  was  a  poor  man 
now,  and  worse  than  poor,  because  lately  I  had  been  rich, 
as  things  went  in  my  surroundings.  In  this  letter,  I  say,  I 
had  expected — I  do  not  know  what.  But  certainly  I  had 
not  expected  to  see  sitting  on  the  page  written  in  my  fianceVs 
hand,  the  face  of  another  woman.  I  hated  myself  for  it. 

The  second  letter  was  from  my  mother,  and  it  left  me 
still  more  disconcerted  and  sad.      "Jack,"  it  said,  "I  grieve 

87 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

unspeakably.  I  am  sad  beyond  all  imaginings  of  sadness. 
I  need  thee.  Come  back  the  first  day  thee  can  to  thy  mother." 

There  was  indeed  need  for  me  at  home.  Yet  here  was  I 
with  my  errand  not  yet  well  begun;  for  Captain  Stevenson 
told  me  this  morning  that  the  Post  Adjutant  had  received 
word  from  Colonel  Meriwether  saying  that  he  would  be  gone 
for  some  days  or  weeks  on  the  upper  frontier.  Rumor  passed 
about  that  a  new  man,  Sherman,  was  possibly  to  come  on  to 
assume  charge  of  Jefferson,  a  man  reported  to  be  a  martinet 
fit  to  stamp  out  any  demonstration  in  a  locality  where  seces 
sion  sentiment  was  waxing  strong.  Meriwether,  a  Virginian, 
and  hence  suspected  of  Southern  sympathy,  was  like  many 
other  Army  officers  at  the  time,  shifted  to  points  where  his 
influence  would  be  less  felt,  President  Buchanan  to  the  con 
trary  notwithstanding.  The  sum  of  all  which  was  that  if  I 
wished  to  meet  Colonel  Meriwether  and  lay  before  him  my 
own  personal  request,  I  would  be  obliged  to  seek  for  him 
far  to  the  West,  in  all  likelihood  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  if  not 
at  the  lower  settlements  around  the  old  town  of  Independ 
ence.  Therefore  I  wrote  at  once  both  to  my  fiancee  and  to 
my  mother  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  return  at 
the  time,  nor  at  any  positive  future  time  then  determinable. 
I  bade  a  hasty  good-by  to  my  host  and  hostess,  and  before 
noon  was  off  for  the  city.  That  night  I  took  passage  on  the 
River  Belle,  a  boat  bound  up  the  Missouri. 

Thus,  somewhat  against  my  will,  I  found  myself  a  part  of 
that  motley  throng  of  keen-faced,  fearless  American  life  then 
pushing  out  over  the  frontiers.  About  me  were  men  bound 
for  Oregon,  for  California,  for  the  Plains,  and  not  a  few 
whose  purpose  I  took  to  be  partisanship  in  the  border  fighting 
between  slavery  and  free  soil.  It  was  in  the  West,  and  on 

88 


THE  MORNING  AFTER 

the  new  soils,  that  the  question  of  slavery  was  really  to  be 
debated  and  settled  finally. 

The  intenseness,  the  eagerness,  the  compelling  confidence 
of  all  this  west-bound  population  did  not  fail  to  make  the 
utmost  impression  upon  my  own  heart,  hitherto  limited  by 
the  horizon  of  our  Virginia  hills.  I  say  that  I  had  entered 
upon  this  journey  against  my  will.  Our  churning  wheels 
had  hardly  reached  the  turbid  flood  of  the  Missouri  before 
the  spell  of  the  frontier  had  caught  me.  In  spite  of  sadness, 
trouble,  doubt,  I  would  now  only  with  reluctance  have  re 
signed  my  advance  into  that  country  which  offered  to  all  men, 
young  and  old,  a  zest  of  deeds  bold  enough  to  banish  sad 
ness,  doubt  and  grief. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  WRECK  ON  THE  RIVER 

I  MADE  friends  with  many  of  these  strange  travelers, 
and  was  attracted  especially  by  one,  a  reticent  man 
of  perhaps  sixty  odd  years,  in  Western  garb,  full  of 
beard  and  with  long  hair  reaching  to  his  shoulders.  He  had 
the  face  of  an  old  Teuton  war  chief  I  had  once  seen  depicted 
in  a  canvas  showing  a  raid  in  some  European  forest  in  years 
long  before  a  Christian  civilization  was  known — a  face  fierce 
and  eager,  aquiline  in  nose,  blue  of  eye;  a  figure  stalwart, 
muscular,  whose  every  movement  spoke  courage  and  self- 
confidence.  Auberry  was  his  name,  and  as  I  talked  with  him 
he  told  me  of  days  passed  with  my  heroes — Fremont,  Carson, 
Ashley,  Bill  Williams,  Jim  Bridger,  even  the  negro  ruffian 
Beckwourth — all  men  of  the  border  of  whose  deeds  I  had 
read.  Auberry  had  trapped  from  the  St.  Mary's  to  the  sources 
of  the  Red,  and  his  tales,  told  in  simple  and  matter-of-fact 
terms,  set  my  very  blood  atingle.  He  was  bound,  as  he 
informed  me,  for  Laramie;  always  provided  that  the  Sioux, 
now  grown  exceedingly  restless  over  the  many  wagon-trains 
pushing  up  the  Platte  to  all  the  swiftly-opening  West,  had 
not  by  this  time  swooped  down  and  closed  all  the  trails 
entirely.  I  wished  nothing  then  so  much  as  that  occasion 
might  permit  me  to  join  him  in  a  journey  across  the  Plains. 
Among  all  these  west-bound  travelers  the  savage  and  the 
half-civilized  seemed  to  me  to  preponderate;  this  not  to  say 
that  they  were  so  much  coarse  and  crude  as  they  were  fierce, 

90 


THE   WRECK   ON    THE  RIVER 

absorbed,  self-centered.  Each  man  depended  upon  himself 
and  needed  to  do  so.  The  crew  on  the  decks  were  relics  from 
keel-boat  days,  surly  and  ugly  of  temper.  The  captain  was 
an  ex-pilot  of  the  lower  river,  taciturn  and  surly  of  disposi 
tion.  Our  pilot  had  been  drunk  for  a  week  at  the  levee  of 
St.  Louis  and  I  misdoubt  that  all  snags  and  sandbars  looked 
alike  to  him. 

Among  the  skin-clad  trappers,  hunters  and  long-haired 
plainsmen,  I  saw  but  one  woman,  and  she  certainly  was  fit 
to  bear  them  company.  I  should  say  that  she  was  at  least 
sixty  years  of  age,  and  nearly  six  feet  in  height,  thin,  angular, 
wrinkled  and  sinewy.  She  wore  a  sunbonnet  of  enormous 
projection,  dipped  snuff  vigorously  each  few  moments,  and 
never  allowed  from  her  hands  the  long  squirrel  rifle  which 
made  a  part  of  her  equipage.  She  was  accompanied  by  her 
son,  a  tall,  thin,  ague-smitten  youth  of  perhaps  seventeen 
years  and  of  a  height  about  as  great  as  her  own.  Of  the  two 
the  mother  was  evidently  the  controlling  spirit,  and  in  her 
case  all  motherly  love  seemed  to  have  been  replaced  by  a 
vast  contempt  for  the  inefficiency  and  general  lack  of  male 
qualities  in  her  offspring.  When  I  first  saw  them  she  was 
driving  her  son  before  her  to  a  spot  where  an  opening  offered 
near  the  bow  of  the  boat,  in  full  sight  of  all  the  passengers,  of 
whose  attention  she  was  quite  oblivious. 

"Git  up,  there,  Andy  Jackson!"  she  said.     "Stan'  up!" 

The  boy,  his  long  legs  braiding  under  him,  and  his  peaked 
face  still  more  pale,  did  as  he  was  bid.  He  had  no  sooner 
taken  his  position  than  to  my  surprise  I  saw  his  mother  cover 
him  with  the  long  barrel  of  a  dragoon  revolver. 

"Pull  your  gun,  you  low-down  coward,"  she  commanded, 
in  tones  that  might  have  been  heard  half  the  length  of  the 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

boat.  Reluctantly  the  boy  complied,  his  own  revolver 
trembling  in  his  unready  hand. 

"Now,  whut'd  you  do  if  a  man  was  to  kivver  you  like 
I'm  a-doin'  now?"  demanded  his  mother. 

"G-g-g-Gawd,  Maw,  I  dunno!  I  think  I'd  j-j-j-jump  off 
in  the  river,"  confessed  the  boy. 

"  Shore  you  would,  and  good  luck  if  you'd  git  plumb 
drownded,  you  white-livered  son  of  misery.  Whatever  in 
Gawd  A'mighty's  world  you  was  borned  for  certainly  is 
more'n  I  can  tell — and  I  your  Maw  at  that,  that  orto  know 
if  anybody  could." 

"Madam,"  I  interrupted,  astonished  at  this  discourse, 
"what  do  you  mean  by  such  talk  to  your  son — for  I  presume 
be  is  your  son.  Why  do  you  abuse  him  in  this  way?"  I 
was  sorry  for  the  shivering  wretch  whom  she  had  made  the 
object  of  her  wrath. 

"Shut  up,  and  mind  yore  own  business,"  answered  the 
virago,  swiftly  turning  the  barrel  of  her  weapon  upon  me. 
"Whut  business  is  this  here  of  yores?" 

"None,  madam,"  I  bowed,  "but  I  was  only  curious." 

"You  keep  your  own  cur'osity  to  yourself  ef  you'r  goin'  to 
travel  in  these  parts.  That's  a  mighty  good  thing  for  you 
to  learn." 

"Very  true,  madam,"  said  I,  gently  disengaging  the  re 
volver  barrel  from  the  line  of  my  waist,  "but  won't  you  tell 
me  why  you  do  these  things  with  your  son?" 

"It's  none  of  your  damned  business,"  she  answered,  "but 
I  don't  mind  tellin'  you.  I'm  tryin'  to  make  a  man  out'n 
him." 

"Ah,  and  this  is  part  of  the  drill?" 

"Part  of  it.  You,  Andrew  Jackson,  stick  yore  pistol  up 

92 


THE   WRECK   ON    THE  RIVER 

agin  your  head  the  way  I  toF  you.  Now  snap  it,  damn  you! 
Keep  on  a-snappin'!  Quit  that  jumpin',  I  tell  you!  Snap 
it  till  you  git  through  bein'  scared  of  it.  Do  it  now,  or  by 
Gawd,  I'll  chase  you  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  feed  you 
to  the  catfish,  you  low-down  imertation  of  a  he -thing. 
Mister,"  she  turned  to  me  again,  "will  you  please  tell  me 
how  come  me  to  be  the  mother  of  a  thing  like  this — me,  a 
woman  of  ole  Missoury ;  and  me  a  cousin  of  ole  Simon  Ken- 
ton  of  Kentucky  beside?" 

"My  good  woman,"  said  I,  somewhat  amused  by  her 
methods  of  action  and  speech,  "do  you  mind  telling  me  what 
is  your  name?" 

"Name's  Mandy  McGovern;  and  I  come  from  Pike,"  she 
answered,  almost  before  the  words  were  out  of  my  mouth. 
"I've  been  merried  three  times  and  my  first  two  husbands 
died  a-fightin,  like  gentlemen,  in  diffikilties  with  friends. 
Then  along  come  this  Danny  Calkins,  that  taken  up  some 
land  nigh  to  me  in  the  bottoms — low-downest  coward  of  a 
man  that  ever  disgraced  the  sile  of  yearth — and  then  I  mer 
ried  him" 

"Is  he  dead,  too,  my  dear  woman?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  you  'dear  woman'  me — I  ain't  free  to  merry  agin 
yit,"  said  she.  "Naw,  he  ain't  dead,  and  I  ain't  deevorced 
either.  I  just  done  left  him.  Why,  every  man  in  Pike  has 
whupped  Danny  Calkins  one  time  or  other.  When  a  man 
couldn't  git  no  reputation  any  other  way,  he'd  come  erlong 
and  whupped  my  husband.  I  got  right  tired  of  it." 

"I  should  think  you  might." 

"Yes,  and  me  the  wife  of  two  real  men  befo'  then.  If 
ever  a  woman  had  hard  luck  the  same  is  me,"  she  went  on. 
"I  had  eight  chillen  by  my  two  husbands  that  was  real  men, 

93 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

and  every  one  of  them  died,  or  got  killed  like  a  man,  or  went 
West  like  a  man — exceptin'  this  thing  here,  the  son  of  that 
there  Danny  Calkins.  Why,  he's  afraid  to  go  coon  huntin' 
at  night  for  fear  the  cats'll  get  him.  He  don't  like  to  melk 
a  keow  for  fear  she'll  kick  him.  He's  afraid  to  court  a  gal. 
He  kaint  shoot,  he  kaint  chop,  he  kaint  do  nothin'.  I'm 
takin'  him  out  West  to  begin  over  again  where  the  plowin's 
easier;  and  whiles  we  go  along,  I'm  givin'  him  a  'casional 
dose  of  immanuel  trainin',  to  see  if  I  can't  make  him  part 
way  intoe  a  man.  I  dunno !"  Mrs.  McGovern  dipped  snuff 
vigorously. 

Thereafter  she  looked  at  me  carefully.  "Say,  mister," 
said  she,  "how  tall  are  you?" 

"  About  six  feet,  I  think." 

"Hum!  That's  just  about  how  tall  my  first  husband  was. 
You  look  some  like  him  in  the  face,  too.  Say,  he  was  the 
fightin'est  man  in  Pike.  How  come  him  to  get  killed  was 
a  difnkilty  with  his  brother-in-law,  a  Dutchman  that  kept  a 
saloon  and  couldn't  talk  English.  Jim,  he  went  in  there  to 
get  a  bite  to  eat  and  asked  this  Dutchman  what  he  could  set 
up.  Paul — that  was  the  Dutchman's  name — he  says,  'Well, 
we  got  dawg — mallard  dawg,  and  red  head  dawg,  and  canvas 
back  dawg — what's  the  kind  of  dawg  you  like,  Chirn?' 

"My  husband  thought  he  was  pokin'  fun  at  him,  talkin' 
about  eatin'  dawg — not  knowin'  the  Dutchman  was  tryin'  to 
say  'duck,'  and  couldn't.  'I  might  have  a  piece  of  duck,' 
said  Jim,  'bit  I  ain't  eatin'  no  dawg.' 

"'I  said  dawg,'  says  Paul,  still  a-tryin'  to  say  'duck.' 

"  'I  know  you  did,'  says  Jim,  and  then  they  clinched.  Jim 
he  broke  his  knife  off,  and  the  Dutchman  soaked  him  with 
a  beer  mallet.  'But  Mandy,'  says  Jim  to  me,  jest  before 

94 


THE   WRECK   ON    THE  RIVER 

he  shet  his  eyes,  'I  die  content.  That  there  fellow  was  the 
sweetest  cuttin'  man  I  ever  did  cut  in  all  my  life — he  was  jest 
like  a  ripe  pumpkin.'  Say,  there  was  a  man  for  you,  was 
Jim — you  look  some  like  him."  She  dipped  snuff  again 
vigorously. 

"You  compliment  me  very  much,  Mrs.  McGovern,"  I 
said. 

"Say,"  she  responded,  "I  got  two  thousand  head  o' 
hawgs  runnin'  around  in  the  timber  down  there  in  Pike." 

At  the  moment  I  did  not  see  the  veiled  tenderness  of  this 
speech,  but  thought  of  nothing  better  than  to  tell  her  that  I 
was  going  no  further  up  the  river  than  Fort  Leavenworth. 

"Urn-hum!"  she  said.  "Say,  mister,  mebbe  that's  yore 
wife  back  there  in  the  kebbin  in  the  middle  of  the  boat?" 

"No,  indeed.  In  fact  I  did  not  know  there  was  any  other 
lady  on  the  boat  besides  yourself.  I  am  not  much  interested 
in  young  ladies,  as  it  happens." 

"You  lie,"  said  Mrs.  McGovern  promptly,  "there  ain't 
nothin'  in  the  whole  world  you  are  ez  much  interested  in  as 
young  wimmin.  I'm  a  merried  woman,  and  I  know  the 
signs.  If  I  had  a  deevorce  I  might  be  a  leetle  jealous  o'  that 
gal  in  there.  She's  the  best  lookin'  gal  I  ever  did  see  in  all 
my  time.  If  I  was  merried  to  you  I  dunno  but  I'd  be  a  leetle 
bit  jealous  o'  you.  Say,  I  may  be  a  widder  almost  any  day 
now.  Somebody'll  shore  kill  Danny  Calkins  'fore  long." 

"And,  according  to  you,  I  may  be  a  married  man  almost 
any  day,"  I  replied,  smiling. 

"But  you  ain't  merried  yit." 

"No,  not  yet,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  if  you  git  a  chanct  you  take  a  look  at  that  gal  back 
there  in  the  kebbin." 

95 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

Opportunity  did  not  offer,  however,  to  accept  Mrs.  Me-1 
Govern's  kindly  counsel,  and,  occupied  with  my  own  some 
what  unhappy  reflections,  I  resigned  myself  to  the  monotony 
of  the  voyage  up  the  Missouri  River.  We  plowed  along 
steadily,  although  laboriously,  all  night,  all  the  next  day  and 
the  next  night,  passing  through  regions  rich  in  forest  growth, 
marked  here  and  there  by  the  many  clearings  of  the  advan 
cing  settlers.  We  were  by  this  time  far  above  the  junction  of 
the  Missouri  River  with  the  Mississippi — a  point  traceable 
by  a  long  line  of  discolored  water  stained  with  the  erosion 
of  the  mountains  and  plains  far  up  the  Missouri.  As  the 
boat  advanced,  hour  after  hour,  finally  approaching  the 
prairie  country  beyond  the  Missouri  forests,  I  found  little 
in  the  surroundings  to  occupy  my  mind;  and  so  far  as  my 
communings  with  myself  were  concerned,  they  offered  little 
satisfaction.  A  sort  of  shuddering  self-reproach  overcame 
me.  I  wondered  whether  or  not  I  was  less  coarse,  less  a 
thing  polygamous  than  these  crowding  Mormons  hurrying 
out  to  their  sodden  temples  in  the  West,  because  now  (since 
I  have  volunteered  in  these  pages  to  tell  the  truth  regarding 
one  man's  heart),  I  must  admit  that  in  the  hours  of  dusk  I 
found  myself  dreaming  not  of  my  fiancee  back  in  old  Virginia, 
but  of  other  women  seen  more  recently.  As  to  the  girl  of 
the  masked  ball,  I  admitted  that  she  was  becoming  a  fading 
memory;  but  this  young  girl  who  had  thrust  through  the 
crowd  and  broken  up  our  proceedings  the  other  day — the 
girl  with  the  white  lawn  gown  and  the  silver  gray  veil  and 
the  tear-stained  eyes — in  some  way,  as  I  was  angrily  obliged 
to  admit,  her  face  seemed  annoyingly  to  thrust  itself  again 
into  my  consciousness.  I  sat  near  a  deck  lamp.  Grace 
Sheraton's  letter  was  in  my  pocket.  I  did  not  draw  it  out  to 


THE   WRECK   ON    THE  RIVER 

read  it  and  re-read  it.  I  contented  myself  with  watching  the 
masked  shadows  on  the  shores.  I  contented  myself  with 
dreams,  dreams  which  I  stigmatized  as  unwarranted  and 
wrong. 

We  were  running  that  night  in  the  dark,  before  the  rising 
of  the  moon,  a  thing  which  cautious  steamboat  men  would 
not  have  ventured,  although  our  pilot  was  confident  that  no 
harm  could  come  to  him.  Against  assurance  such  as  this 
the  dangerous  Missouri  with  its  bars  and  snags  purposed  a 
present  revenge.  Our  whistle  awakened  the  echoes  along 
the  shores  as  we  plowed  on  up  the  yellow  flood,  hour  after 
hour.  Then,  some  time  toward  midnight,  while  most  of 
the  passengers  were  attempting  some  sort  of  rest,  wrapped 
in  their  blankets  along  the  deck,  there  came  a  slight  shock, 
a  grating  slide,  and  a  rasping  crash  of  wood.  With  a  for 
ward  churning  of  her  paddles  which  sent  water  high  along 
the  rail,  the  River  Belle  shuddered  and  lay  still,  her  engines 
throbbing  and  groaning. 

In  an  instant  every  one  on  the  boat  was  on  his  feet  and 
running  to  the  side.  I  joined  the  rush  to  the  bows,  and 
leaning  over,  saw  that  we  were  hard  aground  at  the  lower 
end  of  a  sand  bar.  Imbedded  in  this  bar  was  a  long  white 
snag,  a  tree  trunk  whose  naked  arms,  thrusting  far  down 
stream,  had  literally  impaled  us.  The  upper  woodwork  of 
the  boat  was  pierced  quite  through;  and  for  all  that  one 
could  tell  at  the  moment,  the  hull  below  the  line  was  in  all 
likelihood  similarly  crushed.  We  hung  and  gently  swung, 
apparently  at  the  mercy  of  the  tawny  flood  of  old  Missouri. 


97 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   FACE   IN  THE   FIRELIGHT 

SUDDEN  disaster  usually  brings  sudden  calm,  the 
pause  before  resolution  or  resignation.  For  the  first 
instant  after  the  shock  of  the  boat  upon  the  im 
paling  snag  I  stood  irresolute;  the  next,  I  was  busy  with 
plans  for  escape.  Running  down  the  companionway,  I 
found  myself  among  a  crowd  of  excited  deck  hands,  most  of 
whom,  with  many  of  the  passengers,  were  pushing  toward 
the  starboard  rail,  whence  could  be  seen  the  gloom  of  the 
forest  along  shore.  The  gangway  door  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  boat  was  open,  and  as  I  looked  out  I  could  see  the 
long  white  arms  of  the  giant  snag  reaching  alongside.  With 
out  much  plan  or  premeditation  I  sprang  out,  and  making 
good  my  hold  upon  the  nearest  limb  as  I  plunged,  found 
myself,  to  my  surprise,  standing  in  not  more  than  four  feet 
of  water,  the  foot  of  the  bar  evidently  running  down  well 
under  the  boat. 

Just  as  I  turned  to  call  to  others  I  saw  the  tall  figure  of  my 
plainsman,  Auberry,  appear  at  the  doorway,  and  he,  also, 
with  scarcely  a  moment's  deliberation,  took  a  flying  leap 
and  joined  me  on  the  snag.  "It's  better  here  than  there," 
he  said,  "if  she  sinks  or  busts,  and  they're  allus  likely  to  do 
both." 

As  we  pulled  ourselves  up  into  the  fork  of  the  long  naked 
branch  we  heard  a  voice,  and  saw  the  face  of  a  woman  lean- 


THE   FACE   IN    THE   FIRELIGHT       . 

ing  over  the  rail  of  the  upper  deck.  I  recognized  my  whilom 
friend,  Mandy  McGovern.  "Whut  you  all  doin'  down 
there?"  she  called.  "Wait  a  minute;  I'm  comin',  too." 
A  moment  later  she  appeared  at  the  opening  of  the  lower 
deck  and  craned  out  her  long  neck.  I  then  saw  at  her  side 
the  figure  of  a  young  woman,  her  hair  fallen  from  its  coils, 
her  feet  bare,  her  body  wrapped  apparently  only  in  some 
light  silken  dressing  to  be  thrown  above  her  nightwear.  She, 
too,  looked  out  into  the  darkness,  but  shrank  back. 

"Here,  you,"  called  out  Mandy  McGovern,  "git  hold  of 
the  end  of  this  rope." 

She  tossed  to  me  the  end  of  the  gang-plank  rope,  by  which 
the  sliding  stage  was  drawn  out  and  in  at  the  boat  landings. 
I  caught  this  and  passed  it  over  a  projection  on  the  snag. 

"Now,  haul  it  out,"  commanded  she;  and  as  we  pulled, 
she  pushed,  so  that  presently  indeed  we  found  that  the  end 
reached  the  edge  of  the  limb  on  which  we  sat.  Without  any 
concern,  Mrs.  McGovern  stepped  out  on  the  swaying  bridge, 
sunbonnet  hanging  down  her  back,  her  long  rifle  under  one 
arm,  while  by  the  other  hand  she  dragged  her  tall  son, 
Andrew  Jackson,  who  was  blubbering  in  terror. 

This  bridge,  however,  proved  insecure,  for  as  Mandy  gave 
Andrew  Jackson  a  final  yank  at  its  farther  end,  the  latter 
stumbled,  and  in  his  struggles  to  lay  hold  upon  the  snag, 
pushed  the  end  of  the  planks  off  their  support.  His  mother's 
sinewy  arm  thrust  him  into  safety,  and  she  herself  clambered 
up,  very  wet  and  very  voluble  in  her  imprecations  on  his 
clumsiness. 

"Thar,  now,  look  what  ye  did,  ye  low-down  coward,"  she 
said.  "Like  to  'a'  drownded  both  of  us,  and  left  the  gal  back 
there  on  the  boat!" 

99 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

The  gang  plank,  confined  by  the  rope,  swung  in  the  cur 
rent  alongside  the  snag,  but  it  seemed  useless  to  undertake 
to  restore  it  to  its  position.  The  girl  cowered  against  the  side 
of  the  deck  opening,  undecided.  "  Wait,"  I  called  out  to  her ; 
and  slipping  down  into  the  water  again,  I  waded  as  close  as 
I  could  to  the  door,  the  water  then  catching  me  close  to  the 
shoulders. 

"Jump!"  I  said  to  her,  holding  out  my  arms. 

"I  can't — I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  hardly  above  a 
whisper. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you!"  I  roared,  in  no  gentle  tones,  I  fear. 
"  Jump  at  once!"  She  stooped,  and  sprang,  and  as  I  caught 
her  weight  with  my  arms  under  hers,  she  was  for  the  moment 
almost  immersed;  but  I  staggered  backwards  and  managed 
to  hold  my  footing  till  Auberry's  arms  reached  us  from  the 
snag,  up  which  we  clambered,  the  girl  dripping  wet  and 
catching  her  breath  in  terror. 

"That's  right,"  said  Mandy  McGovern,  calmly,  "now 
here  we  be,  all  of  us.  Now,  you  men,  git  hold  of  this  here 
rope  an'  haul  up  them  boards,  an'  make  a  seat  for  us." 

Auberry  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  execute  this  order,  for 
the  current  of  old  Missouri,  thrusting  against  so  large  an 
object,  was  incredibly  strong;  but  at  last,  little  by  little 
edging  the  heavy  staging  up  over  the  limb  of  the  snag,  we 
got  its  end  upon  another  fork  and  so  made  a  ticklish  support, 
half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water. 

"That's  better,"  said  Mandy,  climbing  upon  it.  "Now 
come  here,  you  pore  child.  You're  powerful  cold."  She 
gathered  the  girl  between  her  knees  as  she  sat.  "Here,  you 
man,  give  me  your  coat,"  she  said  to  me;  and  I  complied, 
wishing  it  were  not  so  wet. 

100 


THE  FACE  IN    THE  FIRELIGHT 

None  on  the  boat  seemed  to  have  an^iotion  of  wl/at.  was 
going  on  upon  our  side  of  the- 'vessel.  We  heard  many 
shouts  and  orders,  much  trampling  of  feet,  but  for*  ft o  hulst 
part  on  the  opposite  part  of  the  boat.  Then  at  once  we 
heard  the  engines  reverse,  and  were  nearly  swept  from  our 
insecure  hold  upon  the  snag  by  the  surges  kicked  up  under 
the  wheel.  The  current  caught  the  long  underbody  of  the 
boat  as  she  swung.  We  heard  something  rip  and  splinter 
and  grate;  and  then  the  boat,  backing  free  from  the  snag, 
gradually  slipped  down  from  the  bar  and  swept  into  the 
current  under  steam  again. 

Not  so  lucky  ourselves,  for  this  wrenching  free  of  the  boat 
had  torn  loose  the  long  imbedded  roots  of  the  giant  snag, 
and  the  plowing  current  getting  under  the  vast  flat  back  of 
matted  roots,  now  slowly  forced  it,  grinding  and  shuddering, 
down  from  the  toe  of  the  bar.  With  a  sullen  roll  it  settled 
down  into  new  lines  as  it  reached  the  deeper  water.  Then 
the  hiss  of  the  water  among  the  branches  ceased.  Rolling 
and  swaying,  we  were  going  with  the  current,  fully  afloat  on 
the  yellow  flood  of  the  Missouri! 

I  held  my  breath  for  a  moment,  fearing  lest  the  snag  might 
roll  over  entirely;  but  no  concern  seemed  to  reach  the  mind 
of  our  friend  Mrs.  McGovern.  "It's  all  right,"  said  she, 
calmly.  "  No  use  gittin'  skeered  till  the  time  comes.  Boat's 
left  us,  so  I  reckon  we'd  better  be  gittin'  somewhere  for 
ourselves.  You,  Andrew  Jackson,  dern  yer  fool  soul,  if  you 
don't  quit  snivelin'  I'll  throw  you  off  into  the  worter." 

Looking  across  the  stream  I  could  see  the  lights  of  the 
River  Belle  swing  gradually  into  a  longer  line,  and  presently 
heard  the  clanging  of  her  bells  as  she  came  to  a  full  stop, 
apparently  tied  up  along  shore.  From  that  direction  the 

101 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

current  seemed  to  -come-  toward  us  with  a  long  slant,  so  that 
as  we  dropped. down  stream,  we  also  edged  away. 

-  vWe  had  traveled  perhaps  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  when  I 
noticed  the  dim  loom  of  trees  on  our  side  of  the  stream,  and 
saw  that  we  were  approaching  a  long  point  which  ran  out 
below  us.  This  should  have  been  the  deep  side  of  the  river, 
but  no  one  can  account  for  the  vagaries  of  the  Missouri. 
When  we  were  within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  of  the  point, 
we  felt  a  long  shuddering  scrape  under  us,  and  after  a  series 
of  slips  and  jerks,  our  old  snag  came  to  anchor  again,  its 
roots  having  once  more  laid  hold  upon  a  bar.  The  sand- 
wash  seemed  to  have  been  deflected  by  the  projecting  mass 
of  a  heap  of  driftwood  which  I  now  saw  opposite  to  us,  its 
long  white  arms  reaching  out  toward  those  of  our  floating 
craft.  Once  more  the  hissing  of  the  water  began  among 
the  buried  limbs,  and  once  more  the  snag  rolled  ominously, 
and  then  lay  still,  its  giant,  naked  trunk,  white  and  half 
submerged,  reaching  up  stream  fifty  feet  above  us.  We 
were  apparently  as  far  from  safety  as  ever,  although  almost 
within  touch  of  shore. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  as  I  had  been  able  to  touch  bot 
tom  on  the  other  bar,  I  might  do  so  here.  I  crawled  back 
along  the  trunk  of  the  snag  to  a  place  as  near  the  roots  as  I 
could  reach,  and  letting  myself  down  gently,  found  that  I 
could  keep  my  footing  on  the  sand. 

"Look  out  there!  boy,"  cried  Auberry  to  me.  "This 
river's  dangerous.  If  it  takes  you  down,  swim  for  the  shore. 
Don't  try  to  get  back  here."  We  could  see  that  the  set  of 
the  current  below  ran  close  inshore,  although  doubtless  the 
water  there  was  very  deep. 

Little  by  little  I  edged  up  the  stream,  and  found  presently 

102 


THE  FACE  IN    THE   FIRELIGHT 

that  the  water  shoaled  toward  the  heap  of  driftwood.  It 
dropped  off,  I  know  not  how  deep,  between  the  edge  of  the 
bar  and  the  piled  drift ;  but  standing  no  more  than  waist  deep, 
I  could  reach  the  outer  limbs  of  the  drift  and  saw  that  they 
would  support  my  weight.  After  that  I  waded  back  to  the 
snag  carefully,  and  once  more  ordered  the  young  woman  to 
come  to  me. 

She  came  back  along  the  naked  and  slippery  trunk  of  the 
snag,  pulling  herself  along  by  her  hands,  her  bare  feet  and 
limbs  deep  in  the  water  alongside.  I  could  hear  the  sob  of 
her  intaken  breath,  and  saw  that  she  trembled  in  fright. 

"Come,"  I  said,  as  she  finally  reached  the  mass  of  the 
roots.  And  more  dead  than  alive,  it  seemed  to  me,  she  fell 
once  more  into  my  arms.  I  felt  her  grasp  tighten  about  my 
neck,  and  her  firm  body  crowd  against  me  as  we  both  sank 
down  for  an  instant.  Then  I  caught  my  feet  and  straight 
ened,  and  was  really  the  steadier  for  the  added  weight,  as 
any  one  knows  who  has  waded  in  fast  water.  Little  by  little 
I  edged  up  on  the  bar,  quite  conscious  of  her  very  gracious 
weight,  but  sure  we  should  thus  reach  safety. 

"  Put  me  down,"  she  said  at  length,  as  she  saw  the  water 
shoaling.  It  was  hip  deep  to  me,  but  waist  deep  to  her, 
and  I  felt  her  shudder  as  she  caught  its  chill.  Her  little  hand 
gripped  tight  to  mine. 

By  this  time  the  others  had  also  descended  from  the  snag. 
I  saw  old  Auberry  plunging  methodically  along,  at  his  side 
Mrs.  McGovern,  clasping  the  hand  of  her  son.  "  Come  on 
here,  you  boy,"  she  said.  "What  ye  skeered  of?  Tall  as 
you  air,  you  could  wade  the  whole  Missouri  without  your 
hair  gettin'  wet.  Come  along!" 

"Get  up,  Auberry,"  I  said  to  him  as  he  approached,  and 

103 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

motioned  to  the  long,  overhanging  branches  from  the  drift 
wood.  He  swung  up,  breaking  off  the  more  insecure  boughs, 
and  was  of  the  belief  that  we  could  get  across  in  that  way. 
As  he  reached  down,  I  swung  the  young  woman  up  to  him, 
and  she  clambered  on  as  best  she  could.  Thus,  I  scarce 
know  how,  we  all  managed  to  reach  the  solid  drift,  and  so 
presently  found  ourselves  ashore,  on  a  narrow,  sandy  beach, 
hedged  on  the  back  by  a  heavy  growth  of  willows. 

"Now  then,  you  men,"  ordered  Mandy  McGovern,  "get 
some  wood  out  and  start  a  fire,  right  away.  This  here  girl 
is  shaking  the  teeth  plumb  out'n  her  head." 

Auberry  and  I  had  dragged  some  wood  from  the  edge  of 
the  drift  and  pulled  it  into  a  heap  near  by,  before  we  realized 
that  neither  of  us  had  matches. 

"Humph!"  snorted  our  leader,  feeling  in  her  pockets. 
She  drew  forth  two  flasks,  each  stoppered  with  a  bit  of  corn 
cob.  The  one  held  sulphur  matches,  thus  kept  quite  dry, 
and  this  she  passed  to  me.  The  other  she  handed  to  the 
young  woman. 

"Here,"  said  she,  "take  a  drink  of  that.  It'll  do  you 
good." 

c  I  heard  the  girl  gasp  and  choke  as  she  obeyed  this  injunc 
tion;  and  then  Mandy  applied  the  bottle  gurglingly  to  her 
own  lips. 

"I've  got  a  gallon  of  that  back  there  on  the  boat,"  said 
Auberry  ruefully. 

"Heap  of  good  it'll  do  you  there,"  remarked  Mandy. 
"Looks  to  me  like  you  all  never  did  travel  much.  Fer  me, 
I  always  go  heeled.  Wherever  I  gits  throwed,  there  my 
rifle,  and  my  matches,  and  my  licker  gits  throwed  too! 
Now  I'll  show  you  how  to  light  a  fire." 

104 


I  managed  to  hold  my  footing  till  Auberry's  arms  reached  us   from 
the  snag"    (seepage  100) 


THE   FACE  IN    THE  FIRELIGHT 

Presently  we  had  a  roaring  blaze  started,  which  added 
much  to  the  comfort  of  all,  for  the  chill  of  night  was  over  the 
river,  despite  the  fact  that  this  was  in  the  springtime.  Mandy 
seated  herself  comfortably  upon  a  log,  and  producing  a  corn 
cob  pipe  and  a  quantity  of  natural  leaf  tobacco,  proceeded  to 
enjoy  herself  in  her  own  fashion.  "This  here's  all  right," 
she  remarked.  "  We  might  be  a  heap  worse  off  'n  we  air." 

I  could  not  help  pitying  the  young  woman  who  crouched 
near  her  at  the  fireside,  still  shivering;  she  seemed  so  young 
and  helpless  and  so  out  of  place  in  such  surroundings.  As 
presently  the  heat  of  the  flame  made  her  more  comfortable, 
she  began  to  tuck  back  the  tumbled  locks  of  her  hair,  which 
I  could  see  was  thick  and  dark.  The  firelight  showed  in 
silhouette  the  outlines  of  her  face.  It  seemed  to  me  I  had 
never  seen  one  more  beautiful.  I  remembered  the  round 
firmness  of  her  body  in  my  arms,  the  clasp  of  her  hands 
about  my  neck,  her  hair  blown  across  my  cheek,  and  I 
reflected  that  since  fortune  had  elected  me  to  be  a  rescuer, 
it  was  not  ill  that  so  fair  an  object  had  been  there  for  the 
rescuing. 

Perhaps  she  felt  my  gaze,  for  presently  she  turned  and  said 
to  me,  in  as  pleasant  a  speaking  voice  as  I  had  ever  heard, 
"  Indeed,  it  might  be  worse.  I  thank  you  so  much.  It  was 
very  brave  of  you." 

"Listen  at  that!"  grunted  Mandy  McGovern.  "What'd 
them  men  have  to  do  with  it?  Where' d  you  all  be  now  if  it 
wasn't  for  me?" 

"You'd  be  much  better  off,"  I  ventured,  "if  I  hadn't  done 
any  rescuing  at  all,  and  if  we'd  all  stayed  over  there  on  the 
boat."  I  pointed  to  the  lights  of  the  River  Belle,  lying  on 
the  opposite  shore,  something  like  a  mile  above  us. 

105 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

''We're  all  right  now,"  said  old  Auberry  after  a  time.  " If 
we  can't  get  across  to  the  boat,  it's  only  four  or  five  miles  up 
to  the  settlements  on  this  side,  opposite  the  old  Independence 
landing." 

"  I  couldn't  walk,"  said  the  girl.  She  shyly  looked  down 
at  the  edge  of  her  thin  wrapper,  and  I  saw  the  outline  of 
an  uncovered  toe. 

"Here,  ma'am,"  said  Auberry,  unknotting  from  his  neck 
a  heavy  bandana.  "This  is  the  best  I  can  do.  You  and 
the  woman  see  if  you  can  tie  up  your  feet  somehow." 

The  girl  hesitated,  laughed,  and  took  the  kerchief.  She 
and  Mandy  bent  apart,  and  I  heard  the  ripping  of  the  hand 
kerchief  torn  across.  The  girl  turned  back  to  the  fire  and 
put  out  a  little  foot  for  us  to  see,  muffled  now  in  the  red  folds 
of  the  kerchief.  Her  thin  garments  by  this  time  were  be 
coming  dry,  and  her  spirits  now  became  more  gay.  She  fell 
into  a  ready  comradeship  with  us. 

As  she  stood  at  the  fire,  innocent  of  its  defining  light,  I  saw 
that  she  was  a  beautiful  creature,  apparently  about  twenty 
years  of  age.  Given  proper  surroundings,  I  fancied,  here  was 
a  girl  who  might  make  trouble  for  a  man.  Eyes  like  hers,  I 
imagined,  had  before  this  set  some  man's  heart  astir;  and 
one  so  fair  as  she  never  waited  long  in  this  world  for  ad 
mirers. 

She  stooped  and  spread  out  her  hands  before  the  flames. 
I  could  see  that  her  hands  were  small  and  well  formed,  could 
see  the  firelight  shine  pink  at  the  inner  edges  of  her  fingers. 
On  one  finger,  as  I  could  not  avoid  noticing,  was  a  curious 
ring  of  plain  gold.  The  setting,  also  of  gold,  was  deeply 
cut  into  the  figure  of  a  rose.  I  recalled  that  I  had  never 
seen  a  ring  just  similar.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  stole 

1 06 


THE   FACE   IN    THE   FIRELIGHT 

a  furtive  glance  at  her  now  and  then,  I  had  never  seen  a  girl 
just  similar. 

We  had  waited  perhaps  not  over  an  hour  at  our  fireside, 
undecided  what  to  do,  when  Auberry  raised  a  hand.  "  Lis 
ten,"  he  said.  "There's  a  boat  coming";  and  presently  we 
all  heard  the  splash  of  oars.  Our  fire  had  been  seen  by  one 
of  the  boats  of  the  River  Eelley  out  picking  up  such  stragglers 
as  could  be  found. 

"Hello,  there!"  called  a  rough  voice  to  us,  as  the  boat 
grated  at  our  beach.  Auberry  and  I  walked  over  and  found 
that  it  was  the  mate  of  the  boat,  with  a  pair  of  oarsmen  in  a 
narrow  river  skiff. 

"How  many's  there  of  you?"  asked  the  mate — "Five? 
— I  can't  take  you  all." 

"All  right,"  said  Auberry,  "this  gentleman  and  I  will 
walk  up  to  the  town  on  this  side.  You  take  the  women  and 
the  boy.  We'll  send  down  for  our  things  in  the  morning,  if 
,you  don't  come  up." 

So  our  little  bivouac  on  the  beach  came  to  an  end.  A 
moment  later  the  passengers  were  embarked,  and  Auberry 
and  I,  standing  at  the  bow,  were  about  to  push  off  the  boat 
for  them. 

"A  moment,  sir,"  exclaimed  our  friend  of  the  fireside, 
rising  and  stepping  toward  me  as  I  stood  alongside  the  boat. 
"You  are  forgetting  your  coat." 

She  would  have  taken  it  from  her  shoulders,  but  I  forbade 
it.  She  hesitated,  and  finally  said,  "I  thank  you  so  much"; 
holding  out  her  hand. 

I  took  it.  It  was  a  small  hand,  with  round  fingers,  firm  of 
clasp.  I  hate  a  hard-handed  woman,  or  one  with  mushy 
fingers,  but  this,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  hand  excellently 

107 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

good  to  clasp — warm  now,  and  no  longer  trembling  in  the 
terrors  of  the  night. 

"I  do  not  know  your  name,  sir,"  she  said,  "but  I  should 
like  my  father  to  thank  you  some  day." 

"All  ready!"  cried  the  mate. 

"My  name  is  Cowles,"  I  began,  "and  sometime,  per 
haps " 

"All  aboard!"  cried  the  mate;  and  so  the  oars  gave  way. 

So  I  did  not  get  the  name  of  the  girl  I  had  seen  there  in 
the  firelight.  What  did  remain — and  that  not  wholly  to 
my  pleasure,  so  distinct  it  seemed — was  the  picture  of  her 
high-bred  profile,  shown  in  chiaroscuro  at  the  fireside,  the 
line  of  her  chin  and  neck,  the  tumbled  masses  of  her  hair. 
These  were  things  I  did  not  care  to  remember;  and  I  hated 
myself  as  a  soft-hearted  fool,  seeing  that  I  did  so. 

"Son,"  said  old  Auberry  to  me,  after  a  time,  as  we  trudged 
along  up  the  bank,  stumbling  over  roots  and  braided  grasses, 
"that  was  a  almighty  fine  lookin'  gal  we  brung  along  with 
us  there." 

"I  didn't  notice,"  said  I. 

"No,"  said  Auberry,  solemnly,  "I  noticed  you  didn't  take 
no  notice;  so  you  can  just  take  my  judgment  on  it,  which  I 
allow  is  safe.  Are  you  a  married  man?" 

"Not  yet,"  I  said. 

"You  might  do  a  heap  worse  than  that  gal,"  said  Auberry. 

"I  suppose  you're  married  yourself,"  I  suggested. 

"Some,"  said  Auberry,  chuckling  in  the  dark.  "In  fact, 
a  good  deal,  I  reckon.  My  present  woman's  a  Shoshone — 
we're  livin'  up  Horse  Creek,  below  Laramie.  Them  Sho- 
shones  make  about  the  best  dressers  of  'em  all." 

"I  don't  quite  understand " 

1 08 


THE  FACE  IN    THE  FIRELIGHT 

"I  meant  hides.  They  can  make  the  best  buckskin  of  any 
tribe  I  know."  He  walked  on  ahead  in  the  dark  for  some 
time,  before  he  added  irrelevantly,  "Well,  after  all,  in  some 
ways,  women  is  women,  my  son,  and  men  is  men;  that  bein' 
the  way  this  world  is  made  just  at  these  here  present  times. 
As  I  was  sayin',  that's  a  powerful  nice  lookin'  gal." 

I  shuddered  in  my  soul.  I  glanced  up  at  the  heavens, 
studded  thick  with  stars.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  gazing 
down  directly  at  me  one  cold,  bright,  reproving  star,  staring 
straight  into  my  soul,  and  accusing  me  of  being  nothing  more 
than  a  savage,  nothing  better  than  a  man. 


109 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AU   LARGE 

A  OUR  little  village  on  the  following  morning, 
Auberry  and  I  learned  that  the  River  Bell  would 
lie  up  indefinitely  for  repairs,  and  that  at  least  one, 
perhaps  several  days  would  elapse  before  she  resumed  her 
journey  up  stream.  This  suited  neither  of  us,  so  we  sent  a 
negro  down  with  a  skiff,  and  had  him  bring  up  our  rifles, 
Auberry 's  bedding,  my  portmanteaus,  etc.,  it  being  our  in 
tention  to  take  the  stage  up  to  Leaven  worth.  By  noon  our 
plans  were  changed  again,  for  a  young  Army  officer  came 
down  from  that  Post  with  the  information  that  Colonel 
Meriwether  was  not  there.  He  had  been  ordered  out  to  the 
Posts  up  the  Platte  River,  had  been  gone  for  three  weeks, 
and  no  one  could  tell  what  time  he  would  return.  The 
Indians  were  reported  very  bad  along  the  Platte.  Possibly 
Colonel  Meriwether  might  be  back  at  Leavenworth  within 
the  week,  possibly  not  for  a  month  or  more! 

This  was  desperate  news  for  me,  for  I  knew  that  I  ought 
to  be. starting  home  at  that  very  time.  Still,  since  I  had 
come  hither  as  a  last  resort,  it  would  do  no  good  for  me  to  go 
back  unsuccessful.  Should  I  wait  here,  or  at  Leavenworth, 
or  should  I  go  on  still  farther  west?  Auberry  decided  that 
for  me. 

"I  tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  he  said.  "We  can  outfit 
here,  and  take  the  Cut-off  trail  to  the  Platte,  across  the  Kaw 

no 


AU  LARGE 

and  the  Big  and  Little  Blue — that'll  bring  us  in  far  enough 
east  to  catch  the  Colonel  if  he's  comin'  down  the  valley. 
You'd  just  as  well  be  travelin'  as  loafin',  and  that's  like 
enough  the  quickest  way  to  find  him." 

The  counsel  seemed  good.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  two 
more  letters  home,  once  more  stating  that  I  was  not  starting 
east,  but  going  still  farther  west.  This  done,  I  tried  to  per 
suade  myself  to  feel  no  further  uneasiness,  and  to  content 
my  mind  with  the  sense  of  duty  done. 

Auberry,  as  it  chanced,  fell  in  with  a  party  bound  for  Den 
ver,  five  men  who  had  two  wagons,  a  heavy  Conestoga  freight 
wagon,  or  prairie  schooner,  and  a  lighter  vehicle  without  a 
cover.  We  arranged  with  these  men,  and  their  cook  as  to 
our  share  in  the  mess  box,  and  so  threw  in  our  dunnage  with 
theirs,  Auberry  and  I  purchasing  us  a  good  horse  apiece. 
By  noon  of  the  next  day  we  were  on  our  way  westward, 
Auberry  himself  now  much  content. 

"The  settlements  for  them  that  likes  Jem,"  said  he.  "For 
me,  there's  nothing  like  the  time  when  I  start  west,  with  a 
horse  under  me,  and  run  au  large,  as  the  French  traders  say. 
You'll  get  a  chance  now  to  see  the  Plains,  my  son." 

At  first  we  saw  rather  the  prairies  than  the  Plains  proper. 
We  were  following  a  plainly  marked  trail,  which  wound  in 
and  out  among  low  rolling  hills;  and  for  two  days  we  re 
mained  in  touch  with  the  scattered  huts  of  the  squalid,  half- 
civilized  Indians  and  squaw  men  who  still  hung  around  the 
upper  reservations.  Bleached  bones  of  the  buffalo  we  saw 
here  and  there,  but  there  was  no  game.  The  buffalo  had 
long  years  since  been  driven  far  to  the  westward.  We  took 
some  fine  fish  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  forks  of  the  Blue, 
which  with  some  difficulty  we  were  able  to  ford.  Gradually 

in 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

shaking  down  into  better  organization,  we  fared  on  and  on, 
day  after  day,  until  the  grass  grew  shorter  and  the  hills 
flatter.  At  last  we  approached  the  valley  of  the  Platte. 

We  were  coming  now  indeed  into  the  great  Plains,  of  which 
I  had  heard  all  my  youth.  A  new  atmosphere  seemed  to 
invest  the  world.  The  talk  of  my  companions  was  of  things 
new  and  wild  and  strange  to  me.  All  my  old  life  seemed  to 
be  slipping  back  of  me,  into  a  far  oblivion.  A  feeling  of 
rest,  of  confidence  and  of  uplift  came  to  me.  It  was  difficult 
to  be  sad.  The  days  were  calm,  the  nights  were  full  of  peace. 
Nature  seemed  to  be  loftily  above  all  notice  of  small  fret- 
tings.  Many  things  became  more  clear  to  me,  as  I  rode  and 
reflected.  In  some  way,  I  know  not  how,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  was  growing  older. 

We  had  been  out  more  than  two  weeks  when  finally  we 
reached  the  great  valley  along  which  lay  the  western  highway 
of  the  old  Oregon  trail,  now  worn  deep  and  dusty  by  countless 
wheels.  Our  progress  had  not  been  very  rapid,  and  we  had 
lost  time  on  two  occasions  in  hunting  up  strayed  animals. 
But,  here  at  last,  I  saw  the  road  of  the  old  fur  traders,  of 
Ashley  and  Sublette  and  Bridger,  of  Carson  and  Fremont, 
later  of  Kearney,  Sibley,  Marcy,  one  knew  not  how  many 
Army  men,  who  had  for  years  been  fighting  back  the  tribes 
and  making  ready  this  country  for  white  occupation.  As  I 
looked  at  this  wild,  wide  region,  treeless,  fruitless,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  none  could  want  it.  The  next  thought  was  the 
impression  that,  no  matter  how  many  might  covet  it,  it  was 
exhaustless,  and  would  last  forever.  This  land,  this  West, 
seemed  to  all  then  unbelievably  large  and  limitless. 

We  pushed  up  the  main  trail  of  the  Platte  but  a  short  dis 
tance  that  night,  keeping  out  an  eye  for  grazing  ground  for 

112 


AU  LARGE 

our  horses.  Auberry  knew  the  country  perfectly.  "About 
five  or  six  miles  above  here,"  he  said,  "there's  a  stage  sta 
tion,  if  the  company's  still  running  through  here  now.  Used 
to  be  two  or  three  fellers  and  some  horses  stayed  there." 

We  looked  forward  to  meeting  human  faces  with  some 
pleasure;  but  an  hour  or  so  later,  as  we  rode  on,  I  saw 
Auberry  pull  up  his  horse,  with  a  strange  tightening  of  his 
lips.  "Boys,"  said  he,  "there's  where  it  was!"  His  point 
ing  finger  showed  nothing  more  than  a  low  line  of  ruins,  bits 
of  broken  fencing,  a  heap  of  half-charred  timbers. 

"They've  been  here,"  said  Auberry,  grimly.  "Who'd 
have  thought  the  Sioux  would  be  this  far  east?" 

He  circled  his  horse  out  across  the  valley,  riding  with  his 
head  bent  down.  "Four  days  ago  at  least,"  he  said,  "and 
a  bunch  of  fifty  or  more  of  them.  Come  on,  men." 

We  rode  up  to  the  station,  guessing  what  we  would  see. 
The  buildings  lay  waste  and  white  in  ashes.  The  front  of 
the  dugout  was  torn  down,  the  wood  of  its  doors  and  windows 
burned.  The  door  of  the  larger  dugout,  where  the  horses 
had  been  stabled,  was  also  torn  away.  Five  dead  horses  lay 
near  by,  a  part  of  the  stage  stock  kept  there.  We  kept  our 
eyes  as  long  as  we  could  from  what  we  knew  must  next  be 
seen — the  bodies  of  the  agent  and  his  two  stablemen,  muti 
lated  and  half  consumed,  under  the  burned-out  timbers.  I 
say  the  bodies,  for  the  lower  limbs  of  all  three  had  been  dis 
membered  and  cast  in  a  heap  near  where  the  bodies  of  the 
horses  lay.  We  were  on  the  scene  of  one  of  the  brutal  mas 
sacres  of  the  savage  Indian  tribes.  It  seemed  strange  these 
things  should  be  in  a  spot  so  silent  and  peaceful,  under  a 
sky  so  blue  and  gentle. 

"Sioux!"  said  Auberry,  looking  down  as  he  leaned  on  his 


THE  WAY  OF  A   MAN 

long  rifle.  "  Not  a  wheel  has  crossed  their  trail,  and  I  reckon 
the  trail's  blocked  both  east  and  west.  But  the  boys  put  up 
a  fight."  He  led  us  here  and  there  and  showed  dried  blotches 
on  the  soil,  half  buried  now  in  the  shifting  sand;  showed  us 
the  bodies  of  a  half-dozen  ponies,  killed  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  from  the  door  of  the  dugout. 

"They  must  have  shot  in  at  the  front  till  they  killed  the 
boys,"  he  added.  "And  they  was  so  mad  they  stabbed 
the  horses  for  revenge,  the  way  they  do  sometimes.  Yes, 
the  boys  paid  their  way  when  they  went,  I  reckon." 

We  stood  now  in  a  silent  group,  and  what  was  best  to  be 
done  none  at  first  could  tell.  Two  of  our  party  were  for 
turning  back  down  the  valley,  but  Auberry  said  he  could 
see  no  advantage  in  that. 

"  Which  way  they've  gone  above  here  no  one  can  tell," 
he  said.  "They're  less  likely  to  come  here  now,  so  it  seems 
to  me  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  lay  up  here  and  wait  for 
some  teams  comin'  west.  There'll  be  news  of  some  kind 
along  one  way  or  the  other,  before  so  very  long." 

So  now  we,  the  living,  took  up  our  places  almost  upon  the 
bodies  of  the  dead,  after  giving  these  the  best  interment  pos 
sible.  We  hobbled  and  side-lined  our  horses,  and  kept  our 
guards  both  day  and  night;  and  so  we  lay  here  for  three 
days. 

The  third  day  passed  until  the  sun  sank  toward  the  sand 
dunes,  and  cast  a  long  path  of  light  across  the  rippling  shal 
lows  among  the  sand  bars  of  the  Platte;  but  still  we  saw  no 
signs  of  newcomers.  Evening  was  approaching  when  we 
heard  the  sound  of  a  distant  shot,  and  turning  saw  our 
horse-guard,  who  had  been  stationed  at  the  top  of  a  bluff 
near  by,  start  down  the  slope,  running  toward  the  camp. 

114 


AU  LARGE 

As  he  approached  he  pointed,  and  we  looked  down  the 
valley  toward  the  east. 

Surely  enough,  we  saw  a  faint  cloud  of  dust  coming  toward 
us,  whether  of  vehicles  or  horsemen  we  could  not  tell.  Au- 
berry  thought  that  it  was  perhaps  some  west-bound  emigrant 
or  freight  wagon,  or  perhaps  a  stage  with  belated  mails. 

"Stay  here,  boys,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  ride  down  and  see." 
He  galloped  off,  half  a  mile  or  so,  and  then  we  saw  him  pause, 
throw  up  his  hand,  and  ride  forward  at  full  speed.  By  that 
time  the  travelers  were  topping  a  slight  rise  in  the  floor  of 
the  valley,  and  we  could  see  that  they  were  horsemen,  per 
haps  thirty  or  forty  in  all.  Following  them  came  the  dust- 
whitened  top  of  an  Army  ambulance,  and  several  camp 
wagons,  to  the  best  of  our  figuring  at  that  distance.  We 
hesitated  no  longer  and  quickly  mounting  our  horses  rode 
full  speed  toward  them.  Auberry  met  us,  coming  back. 

"Troop  of  dragoons,  bound  for  Laramie,"  he  said.  "No 
Indians  back  of  them,  but  orders  are  out  for  all  of  the  wagons 
and  stages  to  hole  up  till  further  orders.  This  party's  going 
through.  I  told  them  to  camp  down  there,"  he  said  to 
me  aside,  "because  they've  got  women  with  'em,  and  I  didn't 
want  them  to  see  what's  happened  up  here.  We'll  move  our 
camp  down  to  theirs  to-night,  and  like  enough  go  on  with 
them  to-morrow." 

By  the  time  I  was  ready  to  approach  these  new  arrivals, 
they  had  their  plans  for  encampment  under  way  with  the 
celerity  of  old  campaigners.  Their  horses  were  hobbled, 
their  cook-fires  of  buffalo  "chips"  were  lit,  their  wagons 
backed  into  a  rude  stockade.  Guards  were  moving  out  with 
the  horses  to  the  grazing  ground.  They  were  a  seasoned  lot 
of  Harney's  frontier  fighters,  grimed  and  grizzled,  their  hats, 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

boots  and  clothing  gray  with  dust,  but  their  weapons  bright. 
Their  leader  was  a  young  lieutenant,  who  approached  me 
when  I  rode  up.  It  seemed  to  me  I  remembered  his  blue 
eyes  and  his  light  mustaches,  curled  upward  at  the  points. 

"  Lieutenant  Belknap ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  remember 
meeting  me  down  at  Jefferson? " 

"Why,  Mr.  Cowles!"  he  exclaimed.  "How  on  earth  did 
you  get  here?  Of  course  I  remember  you." 

"Yes,  but  how  did  you  get  here  yourself — you  were  not 
on  my  boat?" 

"I  was  ordered  up  the  day  after  you  left  Jefferson  Bar 
racks,"  he  said,  "and  took  the  Asia.  We  got  into  St.  Joe 
the  same  day  with  the  River  Belle,  and  heard  about  your 
accident  down  river.  I  suppose  you  came  out  on  the  old 
Cut-off  trail." 

"Yes;  and  of  course  you  took  the  main  trail  west  from 
Leavenworth." 

He  nodded.  "Orders  to  take  this  detachment  out  to 
Laramie,"  he  said,  "and  meet  Colonel  Meriwether  there." 

"He'll  not  be  back?"  I  exclaimed  in  consternation.  "I 
was  hoping  to  meet  him  coming  east." 

"No,"  said  Belknap,  "you'll  have  to  go  on  with  us  if  you 
wish  to  see  him.  I'm  afraid  the  Sioux  are  bad  on  beyond. 
Horrible  thing  your  man  tells  me  about  up  there,"  he  mo 
tioned  toward  the  ruined  station.  "I'm  taking  his  advice 
and  going  into  camp  here,  for  I  imagine  it  isn't  a  nice  thing 
for  a  woman  to  see." 

He  turned  toward  the  ambulance,  and  I  glanced  that  way. 
There  stood  near  it  a  tall,  angular  figure,  head  enshrouded  in 
an  enormous  sunbonnet;  a  personality  which  it  seemed  to 
me  I  recognized. 

116 


AU  LARGE 

"Why,  that's  my  friend,  Mandy  McGovern,"  said  I.  "I 
met  her  on  the  boat.  Came  out  from  Leavenworth  with 
you,  I  suppose?" 

"That  isn't  the  one,"  said  Belknap.  "No,  I  don't  fancy 
that  sister  McGovern  would  cut  up  much  worse  than  the  rest 
of  us  over  that  matter  up  there;  but  the  other  one " 

At  that  moment,  descending  at  the  rear  of  the  ambulance, 
I  saw  the  other  one. 


117 


CHAPTER   XV 

HER  INFINITE  VARIETY 

IT  WAS  a  young  woman  who  left  the  step  of  the  ambu 
lance  and  stood  for  a  moment  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand  and  looking  out  over  the  shimmering  expanse 
of  the  broad  river.  All  at  once  the  entire  landscape  was 
changed.  It  was  not  the  desert,  but  civilization  which  swept 
about  us.  A  transfiguration  had  been  wrought  by  one 
figure,  fair  to  look  upon. 

I  could  see  that  this  was  no  newcomer  in  the  world  of 
the  out-of-doors,  however.  She  was  turned  out  in  what  one 
might  have  called  workmanlike  fashion,  although  neat  and 
wholly  feminine.  Her  skirt  was  short,  of  good  gray  cloth, 
and  she  wore  a  rather  mannish  coat  over  a  blue  woolen 
shirt  or  blouse.  Her  hands  were  covered  with  long  gaunt 
lets,  and  her  hat  was  a  soft  gray  felt,  tied  under  the  chin  with 
a  leather  string,  while  a  soft  gray  veil  was  knotted  carelessly 
about  her  neck  as  kerchief.  Her  face  for  the  time  was  turned 
from  us,  but  I  could  see  that  her  hair  was  dark  and  heavy, 
could  see,  in  spite  of  its  loose  garb,  that  her  figure  was 
straight,  round  and  slender.  The  swift  versatility  of  my 
soul  was  upon  the  point  of  calling  this  as  fine  a  figure  of 
young  womanhood  as  I  had  ever  seen.  Now,  indeed,  the 
gray  desert  had  blossomed  as  a  rose. 

I  was  about  to  ask  some  questions  of  Belknap,  when  all  at 
once  I  saw  something  which  utterly  changed  my  pleasant 

118 


HER  INFINITE   VARIETY 

frame  of  mind.  The  tall  figure  of  a  man  came  from  beyond 
the  line  of  wagons — a  man  clad  in  well-fitting  tweeds  cut  for 
riding.  His  gloves  seemed  neat,  his  boots  equally  neat,  his 
general  appearance  immaculate  as  that  of  the  young  lady 
whom  he  approached.  I  imagine  it  was  the  same  swift  male 
jealousy  which  affected  both  Belknap  and  myself  as  we  saw 
Gordon  Orme! 

"  Yes,  there  is  your  friend,  the  Englishman,"  said  Belknap 
rather  bitterly. 

"I  meet  him  everywhere,"  I  answered.  "The  thing  is 
simply  uncanny.  What  is  he  doing  out  here?" 

"We  are  taking  him  out  to  Laramie  with  us.  He  has 
letters  to  Colonel  Meriwether,  it  seems.  Cowles,  what  do 
you  know  about  that  man?" 

"Nothing,"  said  I,  "except  that  he  purports  to  come  from 
the  English  Army." 

"I  wish  that  he  had  stayed  in  the  English  Army,  and  not 
come  bothering  about  ours.  He's  prowling  about  every 
military  Post  he  can  get  into." 

"With  a  special  reference  to  Army  officers  born  in  the 
South?"  I  looked  Belknap  full  in  the  eye. 

"There's  something  in  that,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  like 
the  look  of  it.  These  are  good  times  for  every  man  to  attend 
to  his  own  business." 

As  Orme  stood  chatting  with  the  young  woman,  both 
Belknap  and  I  turned  away.  A  moment  later  I  ran  across 
my  former  friend,  Mandy  McGovern.  In  her  surprise  she 
stopped  chewing  tobacco,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  me,  but  she 
quickly  came  to  shake  me  by  the  hand. 

"Well,  I  dee-clare  to  gracious!"  she  began,  "if  here  ain't 
the  man  I  met  on  the  boat!  How'd  you  git  away  out  here 

119 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

ahead  of  us?  Have  you  saw  airy  buffeler?  I'm  gettin' 
plumb  wolfish  fer  something  to  shoot  at.  Where  all  you 
goin',  anyhow?  An'  whut  you  doin'  out  here?" 

What  I  was  doing  at  that  precise  moment,  as  I  must  con 
fess,  was  taking  a  half  unconscious  look  once  more  toward 
the  tail  of  the  ambulance,  where  Orme  and  the  young  woman 
stood  chatting.  But  it  was  at  this  time  that  Orme  first  saw, 
or  seemed  to  see  me.  He  left  the  ambulance  and  came 
rapidly  forward. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "here  you  are  again!  Am  I  your 
shadow,  Mr.  Cowles,  or  are  you  mine?  It  is  really  singular 
how  we  meet.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  meet  you,  although  I 
don't  in  the  least  see  how  you've  managed  to  get  here  ahead 
of  us." 

Belknap  by  this  time  had  turned  away  about  his  duties, 
and  Orme  and  I  spoke  for  a  few  minutes.  I  explained  to 
him  the  changes  of  my  plans  which  had  been  brought  about 
by  the  accident  to  the  River  Belle.  "Lieutenant  Belknap 
tells  me  that  you  are  going  through  to  Laramie  with  him," 
I  added.  "As  it  chances,  we  have  the  same  errand — it  is 
my  purpose  also  to  call  on  Colonel  Meriwether  there,  in  case 
we  do  not  meet  him  coming  down." 

"How  extraordinary!  Then  we'll  be  fellow  travelers  for 
a  time,  and  I  hope  have  a  little  sport  together.  Fine  young 
fellow,  Belknap.  And  I  must  say  that  his  men,  although  an 
uncommonly  ragged  looking  lot  and  very  far  from  smart 
as  soldiers,  have  rather  a  workmanlike  way  about  them, 
after  all." 

"Yes,  I  think  they  would  fight,"  I  remarked,  coolly. 
"And  from  the  look  of  things,  they  may  have  need  to."  I 
told  him  then  of  what  he  had  discovered  at  the  station  house 

120 


HER   INFINITE   VARIETY 

near  by,  and  added  the  caution  not  to  mention  it  about  the 
camp.  Orme's  eyes  merely  brightened  with  interest.  Any 
thing  like  danger  or  adventure  had  appeal  to  him.  I  said  to 
him  that  he  seemed  to  me  more  soldier  than  preacher,  but 
he  only  laughed  and  evaded. 

"You'll  eat  at  our  mess  to-night,  of  course,"  said  he. 
"That's  our  fire  just  over  there,  and  I'm  thinking  the  cook 
is  nearly  ready.  There  comes  Belknap  now." 

Thus,  it  may  be  seen,  the  confusion  of  these  varied  meet 
ings  had  kept  me  from  learning  the  name  or  identity  of  the 
late  passenger  of  the  ambulance.  I  presume  both  Orme  and 
Belknap  supposed  that  the  young  lady  and  I  had  met  be 
fore  we  took  our  places  on  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  the 
blanket  which  served  as  a  table.  She  was  seated  as  I  finally 
approached,  and  her  face  was  turned  aside  as  she  spoke  to 
the  camp  cook,  with  whom  she  seemed  on  the  best  of  terms. 
"Hurry,  Daniels,"  she  called  out.  "I'm  absolutely  starved 
to  death!" 

There  was  something  in  her  voice  which  sounded  familiar 
to  me,  and  I  sought  a  glance  at  her  face,  which  the  next 
instant  was  hid  by  the  rim  of  her  hat  as  she  looked  down, 
removing  her  long  gloves.  At  least  I  saw  her  hands — small 
hands,  sun-browned  now.  On  one  finger  was  a  plain  gold 
ring,  with  a  peculiar  setting — the  figure  of  a  rose,  carved 
deep  into  the  gold! 

"After  all,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "there  are  some  things 
which  can  not  be  duplicated.  Among  these,  hair  like  this, 
a  profile  like  this,  a  figure  like  this.  I  gazed  in  wonder,  then 
in  certainty. 

No  there  was  no  escaping  the  conclusion.  This  was  not 
another  girl,  but  the  same  girl  seen  again.  A  moment's 

121 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

reflection  showed  how  possible  and  indeed  natural  this  might 
be.  My  chance  companion  in  the  river  accident  had  simply 
gone  on  up  the  river  a  little  farther  and  then  started  west, 
precisely  as  Mandy  McGovern  had  explained. 

Belknap  caught  the  slight  restraint  as  the  girl  and  I  both 
raised  our  eyes.  "Oh,  I  say,  why — what  in  the  world — Mr. 
Cowles,  didn't  you — that  is,  haven't  you " 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  haven't  and  didn't,  I  think.  But  I 
think  also " 

The  girl's  face  was  a  trifle  flushed,  but  her  eyes  were 
merry.  "Yes,"  said  she,  "I  think  Mr.  Cowles  and  I  have 
met  once  before."  She  slightly  emphasized  the  word 
"once,"  as  I  noticed. 

"But  still  I  may  remind  you  all,  gentlemen,"  said  I,  "that 
I  have  not  yet  heard  this  lady's  name,  and  am  only  guessing, 
of  course,  that  it  is  Miss  Meriwether,  whom  you  are  taking 
out  to  Laramie." 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Belknap,  and  "of  course,"  echoed 
everybody  else.  My  fair  vis-a-vis  looked  me  now  full  in 
the  face  and  smiled,  so  that  a  dimple  in  her  right  cheek  was 
plainly  visible. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "I'm  going  on  out  to  join  my  father  on 
the  front.  This  is  my  second  time  across,  though.  Is  it 
your  first,  Mr.  Cowles?" 

"My  first;  and  I  am  very  lucky.  You  know,  I  also  am 
going  out  to  meet  your  father,  Miss  Meriwether." 

"How  singular!"  She  put  down  her  tin  cup  of  coffee  on 
the  blanket. 

"My  father  was  an  associate  of  Colonel  Meriwether  in 
some  business  matters  back  in  Virginia " 

"  Oh,  I  know — it's  about  the  coal  lands,  that  are  going  to 

122 


HER   INFINITE   VARIETY 

make  us  all  rich  some  day.     Yes,  I  know  about  that ;  though 
I  think  your  father  rarely  came  over  into  Albemarle." 

Under  the  circumstances  I  did  not  care  to  intrude  my 
personal  matters,  so  I  did  not  mention  the  cause  or  explain 
the  nature  of  my  mission  in  the  West.  "I  suppose  that  you 
rarely  came  into  our  county  either,  but  went  down  the 
Shenandoah  when  you  journeyed  to  Washington?"  I  said 
simply,  "I  myself  have  never  met  Colonel  Meri wether." 

All  this  sudden  acquaintance  and  somewhat  intimate  rela 
tion  between  us  two  seemed  to  afford  no  real  pleasure  either 
to  Belknap  or  Orme.  For  my  part,  with  no  clear  reason  in 
the  world,  it  seemed  to  me  that  both  Belknap  and  Orme  were 
very  detestable  persons.  Had  the  framing  of  this  scene  been 
left  utterly  to  me,  I  should  have  had  none  present  at  the  fire 
side  save  myself  and  Ellen  Meriwether.  All  these  wide  gray 
plains,  faintly  tinged  in  the  hollows  with  green,  and  all  this 
sweeping  sky  of  blue,  and  all  this  sparkling  river,  should 
have  been  just  for  ourselves  and  no  one  else. 

But  my  opportunity  came  in  due  course,  after  all.  As 
we  rose  from  the  ground  at  the  conclusion  of  our  meal,  the 
girl  dropped  one  of  her  gloves.  I  hastened  to  pick  it  up, 
walking  with  her  a  few  paces  afterward. 

"The  next  time  we  are  shipwrecked  together,"  said  I, 
"I  shall  leave  you  on  the  boat.  You  do  not  know  your 
friends!" 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"And  yet  I  knew  you  at  once.  I  saw  the  ring  on  your 
hand,  and  recognized  it — it  is  the  same  I  saw  in  the  fire 
light  on  the  river  bank,  the  night  we  left  the  Belle." 

"How  brilliant  of  you!  At  least  you  can  remember  a 
ring." 

123 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"I  remember  seeing  the  veil  you  wear  once  before — at  a 
certain  little  meeting  between  Mr.  Orme  and  myself." 

"You  seem  to  have  been  a  haberdasher  in  your  time,  Mr. 
Cowles!  Your  memory  of  a  lady's  wearing  apparel  is  very 
exact.  I  should  feel  very  much  flattered."  None  the  less  I 
saw  the  dimple  come  in  her  cheek. 

She  was  pulling  on  her  glove  as  she  spoke.  I  saw  em 
broidered  on  the  gauntlet  the  figure  of  a  red  heart. 

"My  memory  is  still  more  exact  in  the  matter  of  apparel," 
said  I.  "Miss  Meri wether,  is  this  your  emblem  indeed — 
this  red  heart?  It  seems  to  me  I  have  also  seen  it  some 
where  before!" 

The  dimple  deepened.  "When  Columbus  found  Amer 
ica,"  she  answered,  "it  is  said  that  the  savages  looked  up 
and  remarked  to  him,  'Ah,  we  see  we  are  discovered!'" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "you  are  fully  discovered — each  of  you — 
all  of  you,  all  three  or  four  of  you,  Miss  Ellen  Meriwether." 

"But  you  did  not  know  it  until  now — until  this  very  mo 
ment.  You  did  not  know  me — could  not  remember  me — not 
even  when  the  masks  were  off!  Ah,  it  was  good  as  a  play!" 

"I  have  done  nothing  else  but  remember  you." 

"How  much  I  should  value  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Cowles  of  Virginia!  How  rare  an  opportunity  you  have 
given  me  of  seeing  on  the  inside  of  a  man's  heart."  She 
spoke  half  bitterly,  and  I  saw  that  in  one  way  or  other  she 
meant  revenge. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  I  rejoined. 

"No,  I  suppose  you  men  are  all  alike— that  any  one  of 
you  would  do  the  same.  It  is  only  the  last  girl,  the  nearest 
girl,  that  is  remembered.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"It  is  not  so,"  I  answered. 

124 


HER   INFINITE   VARIETY 

"How  long  will  you  remember  me  this  time — me  or  my 
clothes,  Mr.  Cowles?  Until  you  meet  another?" 

"All  my  life,"  I  said;  "and  until  I  meet  you  again,  in 
some  other  infinite  variety.  Each  last  time  that  I  see  you 
makes  me  forget  all  the  others;  but  never  once  have  I  for 
gotten  you." 

"In  my  experience,"  commented  the  girl,  sagely,  "all  men 
talk  very  much  alike." 

"Yes,  I  told  you  at  the  masked  ball,"  said  I,  "that  some 
time  I  would  see  you,  masks  off.  Was  it  not  true?  I  did 
not  at  first  know  you  when  you  broke  up  my  match  with 
Orme,  but  I  swore  that  sometime  I  would  know  you.  And 
when  I  saw  you  that  night  on  the  river,  it  seemed  to  me 
I  certainly  must  have  met  you  before  —  have  known  you 
always — and  now " 

"You  had  to  study  my  rings  and  clothing  to  identify  me 
with  myself!" 

"But  you  flatter  me  when  you  say  that  you  knew  me  each 
time,"  I  ventured.  "I  am  glad  that  I  have  given  you  no 
occasion  to  prove  the  truth  of  your  own  statement,  that  I, 
like  other  men,  am  interested  only  in  the  last  girl,  the  nearest 
girl.  You  have  had  no  reason " 

"My  experience  with  men,"  went  on  this  sage  young  per 
son,  "leads  me  to  believe  that  they  are  the  stupidest  of  all 
created  creatures.  There  was  never  once,  there  is  never 
once,  when  a  girl  does  not  notice  a  man  who  is — well,  who 
is  taking  notice!" 

"Very  well,  then,"  I  broke  out,  "I  admit  it!  I  did  take 
notice  of  four  different  girls,  one  after  the  other — but  it  was 
because  each  of  them  was  fit  to  wipe  out  the  image  of  all  the 
others — and  of  all  the  others  in  the  world." 

125 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

This  was  going  far.  I  was  a  young  man.  I  urge  no  more 
excuse.  I  am  setting  down  simply  the  truth,  as  I  have 
promised. 

The  girl  looked  about,  gladly,  I  thought,  at  the  sound  of  a 
shuffling  step  approaching.  "You,  Aunt  Mandy?"  she 
called  out.  And  to  me,  "I  must  say  good-night,  sir." 

I  turned  away  moodily,  and  found  the  embers  of  the  fire 
at  my  own  camp.  Not  far  away  I  could  hear  the  stamp  of 
horses,  the  occasional  sound  of  low  voices  and  of  laughter, 
where  some  of  the  enlisted  men  were  grouped  upon  the 
ground.  The  black  blur  made  by  the  wagon  stockade  and 
a  tent  or  so  was  visible  against  the  lighter  line  of  the  water 
way  of  the  Platte.  Night  came  down,  brooding  with  its 
million  stars.  I  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  wolves  calling 
here  and  there.  It  was  a  scene  wild  and  appealing.  I  was 
indeed,  it  seemed  to  me,  in  a  strange  new  world,  where  all 
was  young,  where  everything  was  beginning.  Where  was  the 
old  world  I  had  left  behind  me? 

I  rolled  into  my  blankets,  but  I  could  not  sleep.  The 
stars  were  too  bright,  the  wind  too  full  of  words,  the  sweep  of 
the  sky  too  strong.  I  shifted  the  saddle  under  my  head, 
and  turned  and  turned,  but  I  could  not  rest.  I  looked  up 
again  into  the  eye  of  my  cold,  reproving  star. 

But  now,  to  my  surprise  and  horror,  when  I  looked  into 
the  eye  of  my  monitor,  my  own  eye  would  not  waver  nor 
admit  subjection!  I  rebelled  at  my  own  conscience.  I, 
John  Cowles,  had  all  my  life  been  a  strong  man.  I  had 
wrestled  with  any  who  came,  fought  with  any  who  asked  it, 
matched  with  any  man  on  any  terms  he  named.  Conflict 
was  in  my  blood,  and  always  I  had  fought  blithely.  But 
never  with  sweat  like  this  on  my  forehead  I  Never  with  fear 

126 


HER  INFINITE    VARIETY 

catching  at  my  heart!  Never  with  the  agony  of  self-re 
proach  assailing  me!  Now,  to-night,  I  was  meeting  the 
strongest  antagonist  of  all  my  life,  the  only  one  I  had  ever 
feared. 

It  was  none  other  than  I  myself,  that  other  John  Cowles, 
young  man,  and  now  loose  in  the  vast,  free,  garden  of 
living. 

Yet  I  fought  with  myself.  I  tried  to  banish  her  face  from 
my  heart — with  all  my  might,  and  all  my  conscience,  and  all 
my  remaining  principles,  I  did  try.  I  called  up  to  mind  my 
promises,  my  duties,  my  honor.  But  none  of  these  would 
put  her  face  away.  I  tried  to  forget  the  softness  of  her 
voice,  the  fragrance  of  her  hair,  the  sweetness  of  her  body 
once  held  in  my  arms,  all  the  vague  charm  of  woman,  the 
enigma,  the  sphinx,  the  mystery-magnet  of  the  world,  the 
charm  that  has  no  analysis,  that  knows  no  formula;  but  I 
could  not  forget.  A  rage  filled  me  against  all  the  other  men 
in  the  world.  I  have  said  I  would  set  down  the  truth.  The 
truth  is  that  I  longed  to  rise  and  roar  in  my  throat,  chal 
lenging  all  the  other  men  in  the  world.  In  truth  it  was  my 
wish  to  stride  over  there,  just  beyond,  into  the  darkness,  to 
take  this  woman  by  the  shoulders  and  tell  her  what  was  in 
my  blood  and  in  my  heart — even  though  I  must  tell  her  even 
in  bitterness  and  self-reproach. 

It  was  not  the  girl  to  whom  I  was  pledged  and  plighted, 
not  she  to  whom  I  was  bound  in  honor — that  was  not  the  one 
with  the  fragrant  hair  and  the  eyes  of  night,  and  the  clear- 
cut  face,  and  the  graciously  deep-bosomed  figure — that  was 
not  the  one.  It  was  another,  of  infinite  variety,  one  more 
irresistible  with  each  change,  that  had  set  on  this  combat 
between  me  and  my  own  self. 

127 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

I  beat  my  fists  upon  the  earth.  All  that  I  could  say  to 
myself  was  that  she  was  sweet,  sweet,  and  wonderful — here 
in  the  mystery  of  this  wide,  calm,  inscrutable  desert  that  lay 
all  about,  in  a  world  young  and  strong  and  full  of  the  primeval 
lusts  of  man. 


128 


CHAPTER   XVI 

BUFFALO ! 

BEFORE  dawn  had  broken,  the  clear  bugle  notes  of 
reveille  sounded  and  set  the  camp  astir.  Pres 
ently  the  smokes  of  the  cook  fires  arose,  and  in  the 
gray  light  we  could  see  the  horse-guards  bringing  in  the 
mounts.  By  the  time  the  sun  was  faintly  tinging  the  edge 
of  the  valley  we  were  drawn  up  for  hot  coffee  and  the  plain 
fare  of  the  prairies.  A  half  hour  later  the  wagon  masters 
called  "Roll  out!  Roll  out!"  The  bugles  again  sounded  for 
the  troopers  to  take  saddle,  and  we  were  under  way  once 
more. 

Thus  far  we  had  seen  very  little  game  in  our  westward 
journeying,  a  few  antelope  and  occasional  wolves,  but  none 
of  the  herds  of  buffalo  which  then  roamed  the  Western 
plains.  The  monotony  of  our  travel  was  to  be  broken  now. 
We  had  hardly  gone  five  miles  beyond  the  ruined  station 
house — which  we  passed  at  a  trot,  so  that  none  might  know 
what  had  happened  there — when  we  saw  our  advance  men 
pull  up  and  raise  their  hands.  We  caught  it  also — the  sound 
of  approaching  hoofs,  and  all  joined  in  the  cry,  "Buf 
falo!  Buffalo!"  In  an  instant  every  horseman  was  pressing 
forward. 

The  thunderous  rolling  sound  approached,  heavy  as  that 
of  artillery  going  into  action.  We  saw  dust  arise  from  the 

129 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

mouth  of  a  little  draw  on  the  left,  running  down  toward  the 
valley,  and  even  as  we  turned  there  came  rolling  from  its 
mouth,  with  the  noise  of  a  tornado  and  the  might  of  a  moun 
tain  torrent,  a  vast,  confused,  dark  mass,  which  rapidly 
spilled  out  across  the  valley  ahead  of  us.  Half  hid  in  the 
dust  of  their  going,  we  could  see  great  dark  bulks  rolling  and 
tossing.  Thus  it  was,  and  close  at  hand,  that  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  these  huge  creatures  whose  mission 
seemed  to  have  been  to  support  an  uncivilized  people,  and 
to  make  possible  the  holding  by  another  race  of  those  lands 
late  held  as  savage  harvest  grounds. 

We  were  almost  at  the  flanks  of  the  herd  before  they 
reached  the  river  bank.  We  were  among  them  when  they 
paused  stupidly,  for  some  reason  not  wishing  to  cross  the 
stream.  The  front  ranks  rolled  back  upon  those  behind, 
which,  crowded  from  the  rear,  resisted.  The  whole  front  of 
the  mass  wrinkled  up  mightily,  dark  humps  arising  in  some 
places  two  or  three  deep.  Then  the  entire  mass  sensed  the 
danger  all  at  once,  and  with  as  much  unanimity  as  they  had 
lacked  concert  in  their  late  confusion,  they  wheeled  front 
and  rear,  and  rolled  off  up  the  valley,  still  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  white,  biting  dust. 

In  such  a  chase  speed  and  courage  of  one's  horse  are  the 
main  essentials.  My  horse,  luckily  for  me,  was  able  to  lay 
me  alongside  my  game  within  a  few  hundred  yards.  I 
coursed  close  to  a  big  black  bull  and,  obeying  injunctions 
old  Auberry  had  often  given  me,  did  not  touch  the  trigger 
until  I  found  I  was  holding  well  forward  and  rather  low.  I 
could  scarcely  hear  the  crack  of  the  rifle,  such  was  the  noise 
of  hoofs,  but  I  saw  the  bull  switch  his  tail  and  push  on  as 
though  unhurt,  in  spite  of  the  trickle  of  red  which  sprung 

130 


BUFFALO! 

on  his  flank.  As  I  followed  on,  fumbling  for  a  pistol  at  my 
holster,  the  bull  suddenly  turned,  head  down  and  tail  stiffly 
erect,  his  mane  bristling.  My  horse  sprang  aside,  and  the 
herd  passed  on.  The  old  bull,  his  head  lowered,  presently 
stopped,  deliberately  eying  us,  and  a  moment  later  he  de 
liberately  lay  down,  presently  sinking  lower,  and  at  length 
rolled  over  dead. 

I  got  down,  fastening  my  horse  to  one  of  the  horns  of  the 
dead  bull.  As  I  looked  up  the  valley,  I  could  see  others  dis 
mounted,  and  many  vast  dark  blotches  on  the  gray.  Here 
and  there,  where  the  pursuers  still  hung  on,  blue  smoke  was 
cutting  through  the  white.  Certainly  we  would  have  meat 
that  day,  enough  and  far  more  than  enough.  The  valley 
was  full  of  carcasses,  product  of  the  wasteful  white  man's 
hunting.  Later  I  learned  that  old  Mandy,  riding  a  mule 
astride,  had  made  the  run  and  killed  a  buffalo  with  her  own 
rifle! 

I  found  the  great  weight  of  the  bull  difficult  to  turn,  but 
at  length  I  hooked  one  horn  into  the  ground,  and  laying  hold 
of  the  lower  hind  leg,  I  actually  turned  the  carcass  on  its  back. 
I  was  busy  skinning  when  my  old  friend  Auberry  rode  up. 

"That's  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  bull  die  on  his  back," 
said  he. 

"He  did  not  die  on  his  back,"  I  replied.  "I  turned  him 
over." 

"You  did — and  alone?  It's  rarely  a  single  man  could  do 
that,  nor  have  I  seen  it  done  in  all  my  life  with  so  big  a  bull." 

I  laughed  at  him.  "It  was  easy.  My  father  and  I  once 
lifted  a  loaded  wagon  out  of  the  mud." 

"The  Indians,"  said  Auberry,  "don't  bother  to  turn  a 
bull  over.  They  split  the  hide  down  the  back,  and  skin 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

both  ways.  The  best  meat  is  on  top,  anyhow";  and  then 
he  gave  me  lessons  in  buffalo  values,  which  later  I  remem 
bered. 

We  had  taken  some  meat  from  my  bull,  since  I  insisted 
upon  it  in  spite  of  better  beef  from  a  young  cow  Auberry  had 
killed  not  far  above,  when  suddenly  I  heard  the  sound  of  a 
bugle,  sharp  and  clear,  and  recognized  the  notes  of  the 
"recall."  The  sergeant  of  our  troop,  with  a  small  number 
who  did  not  care  to  hunt,  had  been  left  behind  by  Bel- 
knap's  hurried  orders.  Again  and  again  we  heard  the  bugle 
call,  and  now  at  once  saw  coming  down  the  valley  the  men 
of  our  little  command. 

"What's  up?"  inquired  Auberry,  as  we  pulled  up  our 
galloping  horses  near  the  wagon  line. 

"Indians!"  was  the  answer.  "Fall  in!"  In  a  moment 
most  of  our  men  were  gathered  at  the  wagon  line,  and  like 
magic  the  scene  changed. 

We  could  all  now  see  coming  down  from  a  little  flattened 
coulee  to  the  left,  a  head  of  a  line  of  mounted  men,  who 
doubtless  had  been  the  cause  of  the  buffalo  stampede  which 
had  crossed  in  front  of  us.  The  shouts  of  teamsters  and 
the  crack  of  whips  punctuated  the  crunch  of  wheels  as  our 
wagons  swiftly  swung  again  into  stockade.  The  ambulance 
was  hurriedly  driven  into  the  center  of  the  heavier  wagons, 
which  formed  in  a  rude  half  circle. 

After  all,  there  seemed  no  immediate  danger.  The  col 
umn  of  the  tribesmen  came  on  toward  us  fearlessly,  as  though 
they  neither  dreaded  us  nor  indeed  recognized  us.  They 
made  a  long  calvacade,  two  hundred  horses  or  more,  with 
many  travaux  and  dogs  trailing  on  behind.  They  were  all 
clad  in  their  native  finery,  seemingly  hearty  and  well  fed, 

132 


BUFFALO! 

and  each  as  arrogant  as  a  king.  They  passed  us  contempt 
uously,  with  not  a  sidelong  glance. 

In  advance  of  the  head  men  who  rode  foremost  in  the  col 
umn  were  three  or  four  young  women,  bearing  long  lance 
shafts  decorated  with  feathers  and  locks  of  human  hair,  the 
steel  tips  shining  gray  in  the  sun.  These  young  women, 
perhaps  not  squires  or  heralds  of  the  tribe,  but  wives  of  one 
or  more  of  the  head  men,  were  decorated  with  brass  and 
beads  and  shining  things,  their  hair  covered  with  gauds, 
their  black  eyes  shining  too,  though  directed  straight  ahead. 
Their  garb  was  of  tanned  leather,  the  tunics  or  dresses  were 
of  elk  skin,  and  the  white  leggins  of  antelope  hide  or  that  of 
mountain  sheep.  Their  buffalo  hide  moccasins  were  hand 
somely  beaded  and  stained.  As  they  passed,  followed  by 
the  long  train  of  stalwart  savage  figures,  they  made  a  specta 
cle  strange  and  savage,  but  surely  not  less  than  impressive. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  on  either  side.  The  course  of 
their  column  took  them  to  the  edge  of  the  water  a  short  dis 
tance  above  us.  They  drove  their  horses  down  to  drink, 
scrambled  up  the  bank  again,  and  then  presently,  in  answer 
to  some  sort  of  signal,  quietly  rode  on  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or 
so  and  pulled  up  at  the  side  of  the  valley.  They  saw  abun 
dance  of  meat  lying  there  already  killed,  and  perhaps  guessed 
that  we  could  not  use  all  of  it. 

"Auberry,"  said  Belknap,  "we  must  go  talk  to  these 
people,  and  see  what's  up." 

"They're  Sioux!"  said  Auberry.  "Like  enough  the  very 
devils  that  cleaned  out  the  station  down  there.  But  come 
on;  they  don't  mean  fight  right  now." 

Belknap  and  Auberry  took  with  them  the  sergeant  and  a 
dozen  troopers.  I  pushed  in  with  these,  and  saw  Orme  at 

133 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

my  side;  and  Belknap  did  not  send  us  back.  We  four  rode 
on  together  presently.  Two  or  three  hundred  yards  from 
the  place  where  the  Indians  halted,  Auberry  told  Belknap 
to  halt  his  men.  We  four,  with  one  private  to  hold  our 
horses,  rode  forward  a  hundred  yards  farther,  halted  and 
raised  our  hands  in  sign  of  peace.  There  rode  out  to  us  four 
of  the  <head  men  of  the  Sioux,  beautifully  dressed,  each  a 
stalwart  man.  We  dismounted,  laid  down  our  weapons  on 
the  ground,  and  approached  each  other. 

"Watch  them  close,  boys,"  whispered  Auberry.  "They've 
got  plenty  of  irons  around  them  somewhere,  and  plenty  of 
scalps,  too,  maybe." 

"Talk  to  them,  Auberry,"  said  Belknap;  and  as  the 
former  was  the  only  one  of  us  who  understood  the  Sioux 
tongue,  he  acted  as  interpreter. 

"What  are  the  Sioux  doing  so  far  east?"  he  asked  of  their 
spokesman,  sternly. 

"Hunting,"  answered  the  Sioux,  as  Auberry  informed  us. 
"The  white  soldiers  drive  away  our  buffalo.  The  white 
men  kill  too  many.  Let  them  go.  This  is  our  country." 
It  seemed  to  me  I  could  see  the  black  eyes  of  the  Sioux  bor 
ing  straight  through  every  one  of  us,  glittering,  not  in  the 
least  afraid. 

"Go  back  to  the  north  and  west,  where  you  belong,"  said 
Auberry.  "You  have  no  business  here  on  the  wagon  trails." 

"The  Sioux  hunt  where  they  please,"  was  the  grim  answer. 
"But  you  see  we  have  our  women  and  children  with  us,  the 
same  as  you  have — and  he  pointed  toward  our  camp,  doubt 
less  knowing  the  personnel  of  our  party  as  well  as  we  did 
ourselves. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  our  interpreter. 

134 


BUFFALO! 

The  Sioux  waved  his  arm  vaguely.  "Heap  hunt,"  he 
said,  in  broken  English  now.  "Where  you  go?"  he  asked, 
in  return. 

Auberry  was  also  a  diplomat,  and  answered  that  we  were 
going  a  half  sleep  to  the  west,  to  meet  a  big  war  party  coming 
down  the  Platte,  the  white  men  from  Laramie. 

The  Indian  looked  grave  at  this.  "Is  that  so?"  he  asked, 
calmly.  "I  had  not  any  word  from  my  young  men  about  a 
war  party  coming  down  the  river.  Many  white  tepees  on 
wheels  going  up  the  river;  no  soldiers  coming  down  this 
way." 

"We  are  going  on  up  to  meet  our  soldiers,"  said  Auberry, 
sternly.  "The  Sioux  have  killed  some  of  our  men  below 
here.  We  shall  meet  our  soldiers  and  come  and  wipe  the 
Sioux  off  the  land  if  they  come  into  the  valley  where  our 
great  road  runs  west." 

"That  is  good,"  said  the  Sioux.  "As  for  us,  we  harm  no 
white  man.  We  hunt  where  we  please.  White  men  go!" 

Auberry  now  turned  to  us.  "I  don't  think  they  mean 
trouble,  Lieutenant,"  he  said,  "and  I  think  the  best  thing 
we  can  do  is  to  let  them  alone  and  go  on  up  the  valley.  Let's 
go  on  and  pull  on  straight  by  them,  the  way  they  did  us,  and 
call  it  a  draw  all  around." 

Belknap  nodded,  and  Auberry  turned  again  to  the  four 
Sioux,  who  stood  tall  and  motionless,  looking  at  us  with  the 
same  fixed,  glittering  eyes.  I  shall  remember  the  actors  in 
that  little  scene  so  long  as  I  live. 

"We  have  spoken,"  said  Auberry.  "That  is  all  we  have 
to  say." 

Both  parties  turned  and  went  back  to  their  companions. 
Belknap,  Auberry  and  I  had  nearly  reached  our  waiting 

135 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

troopers,  when  we  missed  Orme,  and  turned  back  to  see 
where  he  was.  He  was  standing  close  to  the  four  chiefs, 
who  had  by  this  time  reached  their  horses.  Orme  was 
leading  by  the  bridle  his  own  horse,  which  was  slightly  lame 
from  a  strain  received  in  the  hunt. 

"Some  buck'll  slip  an  arrer  into  him,  if  he  don't  look  out," 
said  Auberry.  "He's  got  no  business  out  there." 

We  saw  Orme  making  some  sort  of  gestures,  pointing  to 
his  horse  and  the  others. 

"Wonder  if  he  wants  to  trade  horses!"  mused  Auberry, 
chuckling.  Then  in  the  same  breath  he  called,  "Look  out! 
By  God!  Look!" 

We  all  saw  it.  Orme's  arm  shot  out  straight,  tipped  by  a 
blue  puff  of  smoke,  and  we  heard  the  crack  of  the  dragoon 
pistol.  One  of  the  Sioux,  the  chief  who  by  this  time  had 
mounted  his  horse,  threw  his  hand  against  his  chest  and 
leaned  slightly  back,  then  straightened  up  slightly  as  he  sat. 
As  he  fell,  or  before  he  fell,  Orme  pushed  his  body  clear  from 
the  saddle,  and  with  a  leap  was  in  the  dead  man's  place  and 
riding  swiftly  toward  us,  leading  his  own  horse  by  the  rein! 

It  seemed  that  it  was  the  Sioux  who  had  kept  faith  after 
all;  for  none  of  the  remaining  three  could  find  a  weapon. 
Orme  rode  up  laughing  and  unconcerned.  "The  beggar 
wouldn't  trade  with  me  at  all,"  he  said.  "By  Jove,  I  believe 
he'd  have  got  me  if  he'd  had  any  sort  of  tools  for  it." 

"You  broke  treaty!"  ejaculated  Belknap — "you  broke  the 
council  word." 

"Did  that  man  make  the  first  break  at  you?"  Auberry 
blazed  at  him. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  answered  Orme,  coolly.  "It's  well  to 
be  a  trifle  ahead  in  such  matters."  He  seemed  utterly  un- 


BUFFALO! 

concerned.  He  could  kill  a  man  as  lightly  as  a  rabbit,  and 
think  no  more  about  it. 

Within  the  instant  the  entire  party  of  the  Sioux  was  in 
confusion.  We  saw  them  running  about,  mounting,  heard 
them  shouting  and  wailing. 

"It's  fight  now!"  said  Auberry.  "Back  to  the  wagons 
now  and  get  your  men  ready,  Lieutenant.  As  soon  as  the 
Sioux  can  get  shut  of  their  women,  they'll  come  on,  and 
come  a  boilin',  too.  You  damned  fool!"  he  said  to  Orme. 
"You  murdered  that  man!" 

"  What's  that,  my  good  fellow? "  said  Orme,  sharply.  "Now 
I  advise  you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  or  I'll  teach 
you  some  manners." 

Even  as  we  swung  and  rode  back,  Auberry  pushed  along 
side  Orme,  his  rifle  at  ready.  "By  God!  man,  if  you  want 
to  teach  me  any  manners,  begin  it  now.  You  make  your 
break,"  he  cried. 

Belknap  spurred  in  between  them.  "Here,  you  men,"  he 
commanded  with  swift  sternness.  "Into  your  places.  I'm 
in  command  here,  and  I'll  shoot  the  first  man  who  raises  a 
hand.  Mr.  Orme,  take  your  place  at  the  wagons.  Auberry, 
keep  with  me.  We'll  have  fighting  enough  without  anything 
of  this." 

"He  murdered  that  Sioux,  Lieutenant,"  reiterated  Au 
berry. 

"Damn  it,  sir,  I  know  he  did,  but  this  is  no  time  to  argue 
about  that.  Look  there!" 

A  long,  ragged,  parti-colored  line,  made  up  of  the  squaws 
and  children  of  the  party,  was  whipping  up  the  sides  of  the 
rough  bluffs  on  the  left  of  the  valley.  We  heard  wailing,  the 
barking  of  dogs,  the  crying  of  children.  We  saw  the  Sioux 

137 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

separate  thus  into  two  bands,  the  men  remaining  behind, 
riding  back  and  forth,  whooping  and  holding  aloft  their 
weapons.  We  heard  the  note  of  a  dull  war  drum  beating, 
the  clacking  of  their  rattles  and  the  shrill  notes  of  their  war 
whistles. 

"They'll  fight,"  said  Auberry.     "Look  at  'em!" 

"Here  they  come,"  said  Belknap,  coolly.    "Get  down, 


138 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SIOUX! 

THE  record  of  this  part  of  my  life  comes  to  me  some 
times  as  a  series  of  vivid  pictures.  I  can  see  this 
picture  now — the  wide  gray  of  the  flat  valley, 
edged  with  green  at  the  coulee  mouths;  the  sandy  spots 
where  the  wind  had  worked  at  the  foot  of  the  banks;  the 
dotted  islands  out  in  the  shimmering,  shallow  river.  I  can 
see  again,  under  the  clear,  sweet,  quiet  sky,  the  picture  of 
those  painted  men — their  waving  lances,  their  swaying 
bodies  as  they  reached  for  the  quivers  across  their  shoulders. 
I  can  see  the  loose  ropes  trailing  at  the  horses'  noses,  and  see 
the  light  leaning  forward  of  the  red  and  yellow  and  ghastly 
white-striped  and  black-stained  bodies,  and  the  barred  black 
of  the  war  paint  on  their  faces.  I  feel  again,  so  much  almost 
that  my  body  swings  in  unison,  the  gathering  stride  of  the 
ponies  cutting  the  dust  into  clouds.  I  see  the  color  and  the 
swiftness  of  it  all,  and  feel  its  thrill,  the  strength  and  tense 
ness  of  it  all.  And  again  I  feel,  as  though  it  were  to-day, 
the  high,  keen,  pleasant  resolution  which  came  to  me.  We 
had  women  with  us.  Whether  this  young  woman  was  now 
to  die  or  not,  none  of  us  men  would  see  it  happen. 

They  came  on,  massed  as  I  have  said,  to  within  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  yards,  then  swung  out  around  us, 
their  horse  line  rippling  up  over  the  broken  ground  appar 
ently  as  easily  as  it  had  gone  on  the  level  floor  of  the  valley. 

139 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Still  we  made  no  volley  fire.  I  rejoiced  to  see  the  cool  pallor 
of  Belknap's  face,  and  saw  him  brave  and  angry  to  the  core. 
Our  plainsmen,  too,  were  grim,  though  eager;  and  our  little 
band  of  cavalry,  hired  fighters,  rose  above  that  station  and 
became  not  mongrel  private  soldiers,  but  Anglo-Saxons  each. 
They  lay  or  knelt  or  stood  back  of  the  wagon  line,  imper 
turbable  as  wooden  men,  and  waited  for  the  order  to  fire, 
though  meantime  two  of  them  dropped,  hit  by  chance  bullets 
from  the  wavering  line  of  horsemen  that  now  encircled  us. 

"Tell  us  when  to  fire,  Auberry,"  I  heard  Belknap  say,  for 
he  had  practically  given  over  the  situation  to  the  old  plains 
man.  At  last  I  heard  the  voice  of  Auberry,  changed  from 
that  of  an  old  man  into  the  quick,  clear  accents  of  youth, 
sounding  hard  and  clear.  "Ready  nowl  Each  fellow  pick 
his  own  man,  and  kill  him,  d'ye  hear,  kill  him!" 

We  had  no  further  tactics.  Our  fire  began  to  patter  and 
crackle.  Our  troopers  were  armed  with  the  worthless  old 
Spencer  carbines,  and  I  doubt  if  these  did  much  execution; 
but  there  were  some  good  old  Hawkin  rifles  and  old  big- bored 
Yagers  and  more  modern  Sharps'  rifles  and  other  buffalo 
guns  of  one  sort  or  another  with  us,  among  the  plainsmen 
and  teamsters;  and  when  these  spoke  there  came  breaks  in 
the  flaunting  line  that  sought  to  hedge  us.  The  Sioux 
dropped  behind  their  horses'  bodies,  firing  as  they  rode, 
some  with  rifles,  more  with  bows  and  arrows.  Most  of  our 
work  was  done  as  they  topped  the  rough  ground  close  on  our 
left,  and  we  saw  here  a  half-dozen  bodies  lying  limp,  flat  and 
ragged,  though  presently  other  riders  came  and  dragged  them 
away. 

The  bow  and  arrow  is  no  match  for  the  rifle  behind  barri 
cades;  but  when  the  Sioux  got  behind  us  they  saw  that  our 

140 


SIOUX! 

barricade  was  open  in  the  rear,  and  at  this  they  whooped 
and  rode  in  closer.  At  a  hundred  yards  their  arrows  fell 
extraordinarily  close  to  the  mark,  and  time  and  again  they 
spiked  our  mules  and  horses  with  these  hissing  shafts  that 
quivered  where  they  struck.  They  came  near  breaking  our 
rear  in  this  way,  for  our  men  fell  into  confusion,  the  horses 
and  mules  plunging  and  trying  to  break  away.  There  were 
now  men  leaning  on  their  elbows,  blood  dripping  from  their 
mouths.  There  were  cries,  sounding  far  away,  inconsequent 
to  us  still  standing.  The  whir  of  many  arrows  came,  and  we 
could  hear  them  chuck  into  the  woodwork  of  the  wagons, 
into  the  leather  of  saddle  and  harness,  and  now  and  again 
into  something  that  gave  out  a  softer,  different  sound. 

I  was  crowding  a  ball  down  my  rifle  with  its  hickory  rod 
when  I  felt  a  shove  at  my  arm  and  heard  a  voice  at  my  ear. 
"Git  out  of  the  way,  man — how  can  I  see  how  to  shoot  if 
you  bob  your  head  acrost  my  sights  all  the  time?" 

There  stood  old  Mandy  McGovern,  her  long  brown  rifle 
half  raised,  her  finger  lying  sophisticatedly  along  the  trigger 
guard,  that  she  might  not  touch  the  hair  trigger.  She  was 
as  cool  as  any  man  in  the  line,  and  as  deadly.  As  I  finished 
reloading,  I  saw  her  hard,  gray  face  drop  as  she  crooked  her 
elbow  and  settled  to  the  sights — saw  her  swing  as  though 
she  were  following  a  running  deer;  and  then  at  the  crack  of 
her  piece  I  saw  a  Sioux  drop  out  of  his  high-peaked  saddle. 
Mandy  turned  to  the  rear. 

"Git  in  here,  git  in  here,  son!"  I  heard  her  cry.  And  to 
my  wonder  now  I  saw  the  long,  lean  figure  of  Andrew 
Jackson  McGovern  come  forward,  a  carbine  clutched  in  his 
hand,  while  from  his  mouth  came  some  sort  of  eerie  screech 
of  incipient  courage,  which  seemed  to  give  wondrous  com- 

141 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

fort  to  his  fierce  dam.  At  about  this  moment  one  of  the  Sioux, 
mortally  wounded  by  our  fire,  turned  his  horse  and  ran 
straight  toward  us  hard  as  he  could  go.  He  knew  that  he 
must  die,  and  this  was  his  way — ah,  those  red  men  knew 
how  to  die.  He  got  within  forty  yards,  reeling  and  swaying, 
but  still  trying  to  fit  an  arrow  to  the  string,  and  as  none  of  us 
would  fire  on  him  now,  seeing  that  he  was  dying,  for  a  mo 
ment  it  looked  as  though  he  would  ride  directly  into  us,  and 
perhaps  do  some  harm.  Then  I  heard  the  boom  of  the  boy's 
carbine,  and  almost  at  the  instant,  whether  by  accident  or 
not  I  could  not  tell,  I  saw  the  red  man  drop  out  of  the  forks 
of  his  saddle  and  roll  on  the  ground  with  his  arms  spread 
out. 

Perhaps  never  was  metamorphosis  more  complete  than 
that  which  now  took  place.  Shaking  off  detaining  hands, 
Andrew  Jackson  sprang  from  our  line,  ran  up  to  the  fallen 
foe  and  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  began  to  belabor  and  kick  his 
body,  winding  up  by  catching  him  by  the  hair  and  actually 
dragging  him  some  paces  toward  our  firing  line!  An  ex 
pression  of  absolute  beatitude  spread  over  the  countenance 
of  Mandy  McGovern.  She  called  out  as  though  he  were  a 
young  dog  at  his  first  fight.  "Whoopee!  Git  to  him,  boy, 
git  to  him!  Take  him,  boy!  Whoopee!" 

We  got  Andrew  Jackson  back  into  the  ranks.  His  mother 
stepped  to  him  and  took  him  by  the  hand,  as  though  for  the 
first  time  she  recognized  him  as  a  man. 

"Now,  boy,  that's  somethin'  like."  Presently  she  turned 
to  me.  "Some  says  it's  in  the  Paw,"  she  remarked.  "I 
reckon  it's  some  in  the  Maw;  an'  a  leetle  in  the  trainin'." 

Cut  up  badly  by  our  fire,  the  Sioux  scattered  and  hugged 
the  shelter  of  the  river  bank,  beyond  which  they  rode  along 

142 


SIOUX! 

the  sand  or  in  the  shallow  water,  scrambling  up  the  bank 
after  they  had  gotten  out  of  fire.  Our  men  were  firing  less 
frequently  at  the  last  of  the  line,  who  came  swiftly  down  from 
the  bluff  and  charged  across  behind  us,  sending  in  a  scatter 
ing  flight  of  arrows  as  they  rode. 

I  looked  about  me  now  at  the  interior  of  our  barricade.  I 
saw  Ellen  Meriwether  on  her  knees,  lifting  the  shoulders  of  a 
wounded  man  who  lay  back,  his  hair  dropping  from  his  fore 
head,  now  gone  bluish  gray.  She  pulled  him  to  the  shelter 
of  a  wagon,  where  there  had  been  drawn  four  others  of  the 
wounded.  I  saw  tears  falling  from  her  eyes — saw  the  same 
pity  on  her  face  which  I  had  noted  once  before  when  a 
wounded  creature  lay  in  her  hands.  I  had  been  proud  of 
Mandy  McGovern.  I  was  proud  of  Ellen  Meriwether  now. 
They  were  two  generations  of  our  women,  the  women  of 
America,  whom  may  God  ever  have  in  his  keeping. 

I  say  I  had  turned  my  head;  but  almost  as  I  did  so  I  felt 
a  sudden  jar  as  though  some  one  had  taken  a  board  and 
struck  me  over  the  head  with  all  his  might.  Then,  as  I 
slowly  became  aware,  my  head  was  utterly  and  entirely 
detached  from  my  body,  and  went  sailing  off,  deliberately, 
in  front  of  me.  I  could  see  it  going  distinctly,  and  yet, 
oddly  enough,  I  could  also  see  a  sudden  change  come  on  the 
face  of  the  girl  who  was  stooping  before  me,  and  who  at  the 
moment  raised  her  eyes. 

"It  is  strange,"  thought  I,  "but  my  head,  thus  detached, 
is  going  to  pass  directly  above  her,  right  there!" 

Then  I  ceased  to  take  interest  in  anything,  and  sank  back 
into  the  arms  of  that  from  which  we  come,  calmly  taking 
hold  of  the  hand  of  Mystery. 


H3 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE   TEST 

I  AWOKE,  I  knew  not  how  much  later,  into  a  world 
which  at  first  had  a  certain  warm  comfort  and  lan 
guid  luxury  about  it.  Then  I  felt  a  sharp  wrenching 
and  a  great  pain  in  my  neck,  to  which  it  seemed  my  departed 
head  had,  after  all,  returned.  Stimulated  by  this  pain,  I 
turned  and  looked  up  into  the  face  of  Auberry.  He  stood 
frowning,  holding  in  his  hand  a  feathered  arrow  shaft  of 
willow,  grooved  along  its  sides  to  let  the  blood  run  free, 
sinew-wrapped  to  hold  its  feathers  tight — a  typical  arrow  of 
the  buffalo  tribes.  But,  as  I  joined  Auberry's  gaze,  I  saw 
the  arrow  was  headless  i  Dully  I  argued  that,  therefore, 
this  head  must  be  somewhere  in  my  neck.  I  also  saw  that 
the  sun  was  bright.  I  realized  that  there  must  have  been  a 
fight  of  some  sort,  but  did  not  trouble  to  know  whence  the 
arrow  had  come  to  me,  for  my  mind  could  grasp  nothing 
more  than  simple  things. 

Thus  I  felt  that  my  head  was  not  uncomfortable,  after  all. 
I  looked  again,  and  saw  that  it  rested  on  Ellen  Meriwether's 
knees.  She  sat  on  the  sand,  gently  stroking  my  forehead, 
pushing  back  the  hair.  She  had  turned  my  head  so  that 
the  wound  would  not  be  pressed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  her 
voice  sounded  very  far  away  and  quiet. 

"We  are  thinking,"  said  she  to  me.  I  nodded  as  best 
I  could.  "Has  anything  happened?"  I  asked. 

144 


THE    TEST 

"They  have  gone,"  said  she.  "We  whipped  them."  Her 
hand  again  lightly  pressed  my  forehead. 

I  heard  some  one  else  say,  behind  me,  "But  we  have 
nothing  in  the  world — not  even  opium." 

"True,"  said  another  voice,  which  I  recognized  as  that  of 
Orme;  "but  that's  his  one  chance." 

"What  do  you  know  about  surgery?"  asked  the  first 
voice,  which  I  knew  now  was  Belknap's. 

"More  than  most  doctors,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  laugh. 
Their  voices  grew  less  distinguishable,  but  presently  I  heard 
Orme  say,  "Yes,  I'm  game  to  do  it,  if  the  man  says  so." 
Then  he  came  and  stooped  down  beside  me. 

"Mr.  Cowles,"  said  he,  "you're  rather  badly  off.  That 
arrow  head  ought  to  come  out,  but  the  risk  of  going  after  it 
is  very  great.  I  am  willing  to  do  what  you  say.  If  you 
decide  that  you  would  like  me  to  operate  for  it,  I  will  do  so. 
It's  only  right  for  me  to  tell  you  that  it  lies  very  close  to 
the  carotid  artery,  and  that  it  will  be  an  extraordinarily  nice 
operation  to  get  it  out  without — well,  you  know " 

I  looked  up  into  his  face,  that  strange  face  which  I  was  now 
beginning  so  well  to  know — the  face  of  my  enemy.  I  knew 
it  was  the  face  of  a  murderer,  a  man  who  would  have  no  com 
punction  at  taking  a  human  life. 

My  mind  then  was  strangely  clear.  I  saw  his  glance  at  the 
girl.  I  saw,  as  clearly  as  though  he  had  told  me,  that  this 
man  was  as  deeply  in  love  with  Ellen  Meriwether  as  I  my 
self;  that  he  would  win  her  if  he  could;  that  his  chance  was 
as  good  as  mine,  even  if  we  were  both  at  our  best.  I  knew 
there  was  nothing  at  which  he  would  hesitate,  unless  some 
strange  freak  in  his  nature  might  influence  him,  such  freaks 
as  come  to  the  lightning,  to  the  wild  beast  slaying,  changes 

H5 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

for  no  reason  ever  known.  Remorse,  mercy,  pity,  I  knew  did 
not  exist  for  him.  But  with  a  flash  it  came  to  my  mind  that 
this  was  all  the  better,  if  he  must  now  serve  as  my  surgeon. 

He  looked  into  my  eye,  and  I  returned  his  gaze,  scorning 
to  ask  him  not  to  take  advantage  of  me,  now  that  I  was  fallen. 
His  own  eye  changed.  It  asked  of  me,  as  though  he  spoke: 
"Are  you,  then,  game  to  the  core?  Shall  I  admire  you  and 
give  you  another  chance,  or  shall  I  kill  you  now?"  I  say 
that  I  saw,  felt,  read  all  this  in  his  mind.  I  looked  up  into 
his  face,  and  said: 

"You  cannot  kill  me.  I  am  not  going  to  die.  Go  on. 
Soon,  then." 

A  sort  of  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  as  though  he  felt  con 
tent.  I  do  not  think  it  was  because  he  found  his  foe  a  worthy 
one.  I  do  not  think  he  considered  me  either  as  his  foe  or  his 
friend  or  his  patient.  He  was  simply  about  to  do  something 
which  would  test  his  own  nerve,  his  own  resources,  something 
which,  if  successful,  would  allow  him  to  approve  his  own 
belief  in  himself.  I  say  that  this  was  merely  sport  for  him. 
I  knew  he  would  not  turn  his  hand  to  save  my  life;  but  also 
I  knew  that  he  would  not  cost  it  if  that  could  be  avoided,  for 
that  would  mean  disappointment  to  himself.  What  he  did 
he  did  well.  I  said  then  to  myself  that  I  would  pay  him  if  he 
brought  me  through — pay  him  in  some  way. 

Presently  I  heard  them  on  the  sand  again,  and  I  saw  him 
come  again  and  bend  over  me.  All  the  instruments  they 
could  find  had  been  a  razor  and  a  keen  penknife;  and  all 
they  could  secure  to  staunch  the  blood  was  some  water, 
nearly  boiling.  For  forceps  Orme  had  a  pair  of  bullet  molds, 
and  these  he  cleansed  as  best  he  could  by  dipping  them  into 
the  hot  water. 

146 


THE    TEST 

"Cowles,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice,  "I'm  going 
after  it.  But  now  I  tell  you  one  thing  frankly,  it's  life  or 
death,  and  if  you  move  your  head  it  may  mean  death  at  once. 
That  iron's  lying  against  the  big  carotid  artery.  If  it  hasn't 
broken  the  artery  wall,  there's  a  ghost  of  a  chance  we  can  get 
it  out  safely,  in  which  case  you  would  probably  pull  through. 
I've  got  to  open  the  neck  and  reach  in.  I'll  do  it  as  fast  as  I 
can.  Now,  I'm  not  going  to  think  of  you,  and,  gad! — if  you 
can  help  it — please  don't  think  of  me." 

Ellen  Meriwether  had  not  spoken.  She  still  held  my 
head  in  her  lap. 

"Are  you  game — can  you  do  this,  Miss  Meriwether?"  I 
heard  Orme  ask.  She  made  no  answer  that  I  could  hear, 
but  must  have  nodded.  I  felt  her  hands  press  my  head  more 
tightly.  I  turned  my  face  down  and  kissed  her  hand.  "I 
will  not  move,"  I  said. 

I  saw  Orme's  slender,  naked  wrist  pass  to  my  face  and 
gently  turn  me  into  the  position  desired,  with  my  face  down 
and  a  little  at  one  side,  resting  in  her  lap  above  her  knees. 
Her  skirt  was  already  wet  with  the  blood  of  the  wound,  and 
where  my  head  lay  it  was  damp  with  blood.  Belknap  took 
my  hands  and  pulled  them  above  my  head,  squatting  beyond 
me.  Between  Orme's  legs  as  he  stooped  I  could  see  the  dead 
body  of  a  mule,  I  remember,  and  back  of  that  the  blue  sky 
and  the  sand  dunes.  Unknown  to  her,  I  kissed  the  hem  of 
her  garment;  and  then  I  said  a  short  appeal  to  the  Mys 
tery. 

I  felt  the  entrance  of  the  knife  or  razor  blade,  felt  keenly 
the  pain  when  the  edge  lifted  and  stretched  the  skin  tight 
before  the  tough  hide  of  my  neck  parted  smoothly  in  a  long 
line.  Then  I  felt  something  warm  settle  under  my  cheek  as 

147 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

I  lay,  and  I  felt  a  low  shiver,  whether  of  my  body  or  that  of 
the  girl  who  held  me  I  could  not  tell;  but  her  hands  were 
steady.  I  felt  about  me  an  infinite  kindness  and  carefulness 
and  pitying — oh,  then  I  learned  that  life,  after  all,  is  not 
wholly  war — that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  fellow-suffering  and 
loving  kindness  and  a  wish  to  aid  others  to  survive  in  this 
hard  fight  of  living;  I  knew  that  very  well.  But  I  did  not 
gain  it  from  the  touch  of  my  surgeon's  hands. 

The  immediate  pain  of  this  long  cutting  which  laid  open 
my  neck  for  some  inches  through  the  side  muscles  was  less 
after  the  point  of  the  blade  went  through  and  ceased  to  push 
forward.  Deeper  down  I  did  not  feel  so  much,  until  finally 
a  gentle  searching  movement  produced  a  jar  strangely  large, 
something  which  grated,  and  nearly  sent  all  the  world  black 
again.  I  knew  then  that  the  knife  was  on  the  base  of  the 
arrow  head ;  then  I  could  feel  it  move  softly  and  gently  along 
the  side  of  the  arrow  head — I  could  almost  see  it  creep  along 
in  this  delicate  part  of  the  work. 

Then,  all  at  once,  I  felt  one  hand  removed  from  my  neck. 
Orme,  half  rising  from  his  stooping  posture,  but  with  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  still  at  the  wound,  said:  "Belknap, 
let  go  one  of  his  hands.  Just  put  your  hand  on  this  knife- 
blade,  and  feel  that  artery  throb!  Isn't  it  curious?" 

I  heard  some  muttered  answer,  but  the  grasp  at  my  wrists 
did  not  relax.  "Oh,  it's  all  right  now,"  calmly  went  on 
Orme,  again  stooping.  "I  thought  you  might  be  interested. 
It's  all  over  now  but  pulling  out  the  head." 

I  felt  again  a  shiver  run  through  the  limbs  of  the  girl. 
Perhaps  she  turned  away  her  head,  I  do  not  know.  I  felt 
Orme's  fingers  spreading  widely  the  sides  of  the  wound  along 
the  neck,  and  the  boring  of  the  big  headed  bullet  molds  as 

148 


THE   TEST 

they  went  down  after  a  grip,  their  impact  softened  by  the 
finger  extended  along  the  blade  knife. 

The  throbbing  artery  whose  location  this  man  knew  so 
well  was  protected.  Gently  feeling  down,  the  tips  of  the 
mold  got  their  grip  at  last,  and  an  instant  later  I  felt  release 
from  a  certain  stiff  pressure  which  I  had  experienced  in  my 
neck.  Relief  came,  then  a  dizziness  and  much  pain.  A 
hand  patted  me  twice  on  the  back  of  the  neck. 

"All  right,  my  man,"  said  Orme.  "All  over;  and  jolly 
well  done,  too,  if  I  do  say  it  myself!" 

Belknap  put  his  arm  about  me  and  helped  me  to  sit  up. 
I  saw  Orme  holding  out  the  stained  arrow  head,  long  and 
thin,  in  his  fingers. 

"Would  you  like  it?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  grinning.  And  I  confess  I  have  it  now 
somewhere  about  my  house.  I  doubt  if  few  souvenirs  exist 
to  remind  one  of  a  scene  exactly  similar. 

The  girl  now  kept  cloths  wrung  from  the  hot  water  on  my 
neck.  I  thanked  them  all  as  best  I  could.  "  I  say,  you  men," 
remarked  Mandy  McGovern,  coming  up  with  a  cob-stoppered 
flask  in  her  hand,  half  filled  with  a  pale  yellow-white  fluid, 
"ain't  it  about  time  for  some  of  that  thar  anarthestic  I  heerd 
you  all  talking  about  a  while  ago?" 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Orme.  "The  stitching  hurts 
about  as  much  as  anything.  Auberry,  can't  you  find  me  a 
bit  of  sinew  somewhere,  and  perhaps  a  needle  of  some  sort?" 


149 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  QUALITY  OF  MERCY 

AVAST  dizziness  and  a  throbbing  of  the  head  re 
mained  after  they  were  quite  done  with  me,  but 
something  of  this  left  me  when  finally  I  sat  leaning 
back  against  the  wagon  body  and  looked  about  me.  There 
were  straight,  motionless  figures  lying  under  the  blankets  in 
the  shade,  and  under  other  blankets  were  men  who  writhed 
and  moaned.  Belknap  passed  about  the  place,  graver  and 
apparently  years  older  than  at  the  beginning  of  this,  his  first 
experience  in  the  field.  He  put  out  burial  parties  at  once. 
A  few  of  the  Sioux,  including  the  one  on  whom  Andrew 
Jackson  McGovern  had  vented  his  new-found  spleen,  were 
covered  scantily  where  they  lay.  Our  own  dead  were  re 
moved  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff;  and  so  more  headstones, 
simple  and  rude,  went  to  line  the  great  pathway  into  the 
West. 

Again  Ellen  Meriwether  came  and  sat  by  me.  She  had 
now  removed  the  gray  traveling  gown,  for  reasons  which  I 
could  guess,  and  her  costume  might  have  been  taken  from  a 
collector's  chest  rather  than  a  woman's  wardrobe.  All  at 
once  we  seemed,  all  of  us,  to  be  blending  with  these  sur 
roundings,  becoming  savage  as  these  other  savages.  It 
might  almost  have  been  a  savage  woman  who  came  to  me. 

Her  skirt  was  short,  made  of  white  tanned  antelope  leather. 
Above  it  fell  the  ragged  edges  of  a  native  tunic  or  shirt  of 


THE   QUALITY   OF  MERCY 

yellow  buck,  ornamented  with  elk  teeth,  embroidered  in 
stained  quills.  Her  feet  still  wore  a  white  woman's  shoes, 
although  the  short  skirt  was  enforced  by  native  leggins, 
beaded  and  becylindered  in  metals  so  that  she  tinkled  as  the 
walked.  Her  hair,  now  becoming  yellower  and  more  sun 
burned  at  the  ends,  was  piled  under  her  felt  hat,  and  the 
modishness  of  long  cylindrical  curls  was  quite  forgot.  The 
brown  of  her  cheeks,  already  strongly  sunburned,  showed  in 
strange  contrast  to  the  snowy  white  of  her  neck,  now  exposed 
by  the  low  neck  aperture  of  the  Indian  tunic.  Her  gloves, 
still  fairly  fresh,  she  wore  tucked  through  her  belt,  army 
fashion.  I  could  see  the  red  heart  still,  embroidered  on  the 
cuff! 

She  came  and  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  ground,  I  say, 
and  spoke  to  me.  I  could  not  help  reflecting  how  she  was 
reverting,  becoming  savage.  I  thought  this — but  in  my 
heart  I  knew  she  was  not  savage  as  myself. 

"How  are  you  coming  on?"  she  said.  "You  sit  up 
nicely " 

"Yes,  and  can  stand,  or  walk,  or  ride,"  I  added. 

Her  brown  eyes  were  turned  full  on  me.  In  the  sunlight 
I  could  see  the  dark  specks  in  their  depths.  I  could  see 
every  shade  of  tan  on  her  face. 

"You  are  not  to  be  foolish,"  she  said. 

"You  stand  all  this  nobly,"  I  commented  presently. 

"Ah,  you  men — I  love  you,  you  men!"  She  said  it  sud 
denly  and  with  perfect  sincerity.  "I  love  you  all — you  are 
so  strong,  so  full  of  the  desire  to  live,  to  win.  It  is  wonder 
ful,  wonderful!  Just  look  at  those  poor  boys  there — some 
of  them  are  dying,  almost,  but  they  won't  whimper.  It  is 
wonderful." 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"It  is  the  Plains,"  I  said.  "They  have  simply  learned 
how  little  a  thing  is  life." 

"Yet  it  is  sweet,"  she  said. 

"But  for  you,  I  see  that  you  have  changed  again." 

She  spread  her  leather  skirt  down  with  her  hands,  as 
though  to  make  it  longer,  and  looked  contemplatively  at  the 
fringed  leggins  below. 

"You  were  four  different  women,"  I  mused,  "and  now 
you  are  another,  quite  another." 

At  this  she  frowned  a  bit,  and  rose.  "You  are  not  to 
talk,"  she  said,  "nor  to  think  that  you  are  well;  because 
you  are  not.  I  must  go  and  see  the  others." 

I  lay  back  against  the  wagon  bed,  wondering  in  which 
garb  she  had  been  most  beautiful — the  filmy  ball  dress  and 
the  mocking  mask,  the  gray  gown  and  veil  of  the  day  after, 
the  thin  drapery  of  her  hasty  flight  in  the  night,  her  half  con 
ventional  costume  of  the  day  before — or  this,  the  garb  of 
some  primeval  woman.  I  knew  I  could  never  forget  her 
again.  The  thought  gave  me  pain,  and  perhaps  this  showed 
on  my  face,  for  my  eyes  followed  her  so  that  presently  she 
turned  and  came  back  to  me. 

"Does  the  wound  hurt  you?"  she  asked.  "Are  you  in 
pain?" 

"Yes,  Ellen  Meriwether,"  I  said,  "I  am  in  pain.  I  am 
in  very  great  pain." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  am  sorry!  What  can  we  do?  What 
do  you  wish?  But  perhaps  it  will  not  be  so  bad  after  a  while 
— it  will  be  over  soon." 

"No,  Ellen  Meriwether,"  I  said,  "it  will  not  be  over  soon. 
It  will  not  go  away  at  all." 


CHAPTER   XX 

GORDON   ORME,   MAGICIAN 

WE  LAY  in  our  hot  camp  on  the  sandy  valley  for 
some  days,  and  buried  two  more  of  our  men 
who  finally  succumbed  to  their  wounds.  Gloom 
sat  on  us  all,  for  fever  now  raged  among  our  wounded.  Pests 
of  flies  by  day  and  mosquitoes  by  night  became  almost  un 
bearable.  The  sun  blistered  us,  the  night  froze  us.  Still 
not  a  sign  of  any  white-topped  wagon  from  the  east,  nor  any 
dust-cloud  of  troopers  from  the  west  served  to  break  the 
monotony  of  the  shimmering  waste  that  lay  about  us  on  every 
hand.  We  were  growing  gaunt  now  and  haggard;  but  still 
we  lay,  waiting  for  our  men  to  grow  strong  enough  to  travel, 
or  to  lose  all  strength  and  so  be  laid  away. 

We  had  no  touch  with  the  civilization  of  the  outer  world. 
At  that  time  the  first  threads  of  the  white  man's  occupancy 
were  just  beginning  to  cross  the  midway  deserts.  Near  by 
our  camp  ran  the  recently  erected  line  of  telegraph,  its  shin 
ing  cedar  poles,  stripped  of  their  bark,  offering  wonder  for 
savage  and  civilized  man  alike,  for  hundreds  of  miles  across 
an  uninhabited  country.  We  could  see  the  poles  rubbed 
smooth  at  their  base  by  the  shoulders  of  the  buffalo.  Here 
and  there  a  little  tuft  of  hair  clung  to  some  untrimmed  knot. 
High  up  in  some  of  the  naked  poles  we  could  see  still  sticking, 
the  iron  shod  arrows  of  contemptuous  tribesmen,  who  had 

153 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

thus  sought  to  assail  the  "great  medicine"  of  the  white  man. 
We  heard  the  wires  above  us  humming  mysteriously  in  the 
wind,  but  if  they  bore  messages  east  or  west,  we  might  not 
read  them,  nor  might  we  send  any  message  of  our  own. 

At  times  old  Auberry  growled  at  this  new  feature  of  the 
landscape.  "That  was  not  here  when  I  first  came  West," 
he  said,  "and  I  don't  like  its  looks.  The  old  ways  were  good 
enough.  Now  they  are  even  talkin'  of  runnin'  a  railroad  up 
the  valley — as  though  horses  couldn't  carry  in  everything 
the  West  needs  or  bring  out  everything  the  East  may  want. 
No,  the  old  ways  were  good  enough  for  me." 

Orme  smiled  at  the  old  man. 

"None  the  less,"  said  he,  "you  will  see  the  day  before  long, 
when  not  one  railroad,  but  many,  will  cross  these  plains.  As 
for  the  telegraph,  if  only  we  had  a  way  of  tapping  these  wires, 
we  might  find  it  extremely  useful  to  us  all  right  now." 

"The  old  ways  were  good  enough,"  insisted  Auberry. 
"As  fur  telegraphing  it  ain't  new  on  these  plains.  The 
Injuns  could  always  telegraph,  and  they  didn't  need  no  poles 
nor  wires.  The  Sioux  may  be  at  both  ends  of  this  bend,  for 
all  we  know.  They  may  have  cleaned  up  all  the  wagons 
coming  west.  They  have  planned  for  a  general  wipin'  out 
of  the  whites,  and  you  can  be  plumb  certain  that  what  has 
happened  here  is  knowed  all  acrost  this  country  to-day, 
clean  to  the  big  bend  of  the  Missouri,  and  on  the  Yellow 
stone,  and  west  to  the  Rockies." 

"How  could  that  be?"  asked  Orme,  suddenly,  with  interest. 
"You  talk  as  if  there  were  something  in  this  country  like  the 
old  'secret  mail'  of  East  India,  where  I  once  lived." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  said  Auberry, 
"but  I  do  know  that  the  Injuns  in  this  country  have  ways 

154 


GORDON   ORME,   MAGICIAN 

of  talkin'  at  long  range.  Why,  onct  a  bunch  of  us  had  five 
men  killed  up  on  the  Powder  River  by  the  Crows.  That 
was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  By  two  in  the  afternoon 
everyone  in  the  Crow  village,  two  hundred  miles  away, 
knowed  all  about  the  fight — how  many  whites  was  killed, 
how  many  Injuns — the  whole  shootin'-match.  How  they 
done  it,  I  don't  know,  but  they  shore  done  it.  Any  West 
ern  man  knows  that  much  about  Injun  ways." 

"That  is  rather  extraordinary,"  commented  Orme. 

"Nothin7  extraordinary  about  it,"  said  Auberry,  "it's 
just  common.  Maybe  they  done  it  by  lookin'-glasses  and 
smokes — fact  is,  I  know  that's  one  way  they  use  a  heap. 
But  they've  got  other  ways  of  talkin'.  Looks  like  a  Injun 
could  set  right  down  on  a  hill,  and  think  good  and  hard,  and 
some  other  Injun  a  hundred  miles  away'd  know  what  he  was 
thinkin'  about.  You  talk  about  a  prairie  fire  runnin'  fast — 
it  ain't  nothin'  to  the  way  news  travels  amongst  the  tribes." 

Belknap  expressed  his  contempt  for  all  this  sort  of  thing, 
but  the  old  man  assured  him  he  would  know  more  of  this 
sort  of  thing  when  he  had  been  longer  in  the  West.  "I 
know  they  do  telegraph,"  reiterated  the  plainsman. 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  remarked  Orme,  quietly. 

"Whether  you  do  or  not,"  said  Auberry,  "Injuns  is  strange 
critters.  A  few  of  us  has  married  among  Injuns  and  lived 
among  them,  and  we  have  seen  things  you  wouldn't  believe 
if  I  told  you." 

"Tell  some  of  them,"  saidtOrme.  "I,  for  one,  might  be 
lieve  them." 

"Well,  now,"  said  the  plainsman,  "I  will  tell  you  some 
things  I  have  seen  their  medicine  men  do,  and  ye  can  believe 
me  or  not,  the  way  ye  feel  about  it." 

155 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"I  have  seen  'em  hold  a  pow-wow  for  two  or  three  days  at 
a  time,  some  of  'em  settin'  'round,  dreamin',  as  they  call  it, 
all  of  'em  starvin',  whole  camp  howlin',  everybody  eatin' 
medicine  herbs.  Then  after  while,  they  all  come  and  set 
down  just  like  it  was  right  out  here  in  the  open.  Somebody 
pulls  a  naked  Injun  boy  right  out  in  the  middle  of  them. 
Old  Mr.  Medicine  Man,  he  stands  up  in  the  plain  daylight, 
and  he  draws  his  bow  and  shoots  a  arrer  plum  through  that 
boy.  Boy  squirms  a  heap  and  Mr.  Medicine  Man  socks 
another  arrer  through  him,  cool  as  you  please — I  have  seen 
that  done.  Then  the  medicine  man  steps  up,  cuts  off  the 
boy's  head  with  his  knife — holds  it  up  plain,  so  everybody 
can  see  it.  That  looked  pretty  hard  to  me  first  time  I  ever 
seen  it.  But  now  the  old  medicine  man  takes  a  blanket  and 
throws  it  over  this  dead  boy.  He  lifts  up  a  corner  of  the 
blanket,  chucks  the  boy's  head  under  it,  and  pulls  down  the 
edges  of  the  blanket  and  puts  rocks  on  them.  Then  he 
begins  to  sing,  and  the  whole  bunch  gets  up  and  dances 
'round  the  blanket.  After  while,  say  a  few  minutes,  medicine 
man  pulls  off  the  blanket — and  thar  gets  up  the  boy,  good  as 
new,  his  head  growed  on  good  and  tight  as  ever,  and  not  a 
sign  of  an  arrer  on  him  'cept  the  scars  where  the  wounds 
has  plumb  healed  up!" 

Belknap  laughed  long  and  hard  at  this  old  trapper's  yarn, 
and  weak  as  I  was  myself,  I  was  disposed  to  join  him.  Orme 
was  the  only  one  who  did  not  ridicule  the  story.  Auberry 
himself  was  disgusted  at  the  merriment.  "I  knowed  you 
wouldn't  believe  it,"  he  said.  "There  is  no  use  tellin'  a 
passel  of  tenderfeet  anything  they  hain't  seed  for  theirselves. 
But  I  could  tell  you  a  heap  more  things.  Why,  I  have  seen 
their  buffalo  callers  call  a  thousand  buffalo  right  in  from  the 

156 


GORDON   ORME,   MAGICIAN 

plains,  and  over  the  edge  of  a  cut  bank,  where  they'd  pitch 
down  and  bust  theirselves  to  pieces.  I  can  show  you  bones 
of  a  hundred  such  places.  Buffalo  don't  do  that  when  they 
are  alone — thay  have  got  to  be  called,  I  tell  you. 

"Injuns  can  talk  with  other  animals — they  can  call  them 
others,  too.  I  have  seed  an  old  medicine  man,  right  out  on 
the  plain  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  village,  go  to  dancin', 
and  I  have  seed  him  call  three  full-sized  beavers  right  up 
out'n  the  ground — seed  them  with  my  own  eyes,  I  tell  you! 
Yes,  and  I  have  seed  them  three  old  beavers  standin'  right 
there,  turn  into  full-growed  old  men,  gray  haired.  I  have 
seed  'em  sit  down  at  a  fire  and  smoke,  too,  and  finally  get  up 
when  they  got  through,  and  clean  out — just  disappear  back 
into  the  ground.  Now,  how  you  all  explain  them  there 
things,  I  don't  pretend  to  say;  but  there  can't  no  man  call 
me  a  liar,  fur  I  seed  'em  and  seed  'em  unmistakable." 

Belknap  and  the  others  only  smiled,  but  Orme  turned 
soberly  toward  Auberry.  "I  don't  call  you  a  liar,  my  man," 
said  he.  "On  the  contrary,  what  you  say  is  very  interesting. 
I  quite  believe  it,  although  I  never  knew  before  that  your 
natives  in  this  country  were  possessed  of  these  powers." 

"It  ain't  all  of  'em  can  do  it,"  said  Auberry,  "only  a  few 
men  of  a  few  tribes  can  do  them  things;  but  them  that  can 
shore  can,  and  that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Orme.  "Now,  as  it  chances,  I  have 
traveled  a  bit  in  my  time  in  the  old  countries  of  the  East. 
I  have  seen  some  wonderful  things  done  there." 

"I  have  read  about  the  East  Indian  jugglers,"  said  Bel- 
knap,  interested.  "Tell  me,  have  you  seen  those  feats? 
And  are  they  feats,  or  simply  lies?" 

"They  are  actual  occurrences,"  said  Orme.     "I  have  seen 

157 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

them  with  my  own  eyes,  just  as  Auberry  has  seen  the  things 
he  describes ;  and  it  is  no  more  right  to  accuse  the  one  than 
the  other  of  us  of  untruthfulness. 

"For  instance,  I  have  seen  an  Indian  juggler  take  a  plain 
bowl,  such  as  they  use  for  rice,  and  hold  it  out  in  his  hand  in 
the  open  sunlight ;  and  then  I  have  seen  a  little  bamboo  tree 
start  in  it  and  grow  two  feet  high,  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
bowl,  within  the  space  of  a  minute  or  so. 

"You  talk  about  the  old  story  of  'Jack  and  the  Bean 
Stalk';  I  have  seen  an  old  fakir  take  a  bamboo  stick,  no 
thicker  than  his  finger,  and  thrust  it  down  in  the  ground  and 
start  and  climb  up  it,  as  if  it  were  a  tree,  and  keep  on  climbing 
till  he  was  out  of  sight;  and  then  there  would  come  falling 
down  out  of  the  sky,  legs  and  arms,  his  head,  pieces  of  his 
body.  When  these  struck  the  ground,  they  would  reas 
semble  and  make  the  man  all  over  again — just  like  Auberry 's 
dead  boy,  you  know. 

"These  tricks  are  so  common  in  Asia  that  they  do  not 
excite  any  wonder.  As  to  tribal  telegraph,  they  have  got  it 
there.  Time  and  again,  when  our  forces  were  marching 
against  the  hill  tribes  of  northwestern  India,  we  found  they 
knew  all  of  our  plans  a  hundred  miles  ahead  of  us — how, 
none  of  us  could  tell — only  the  fact  was  there,  plain  and 
unmistakable." 

"They  never  do  tell,"  broke  in  Auberry.  "You  couldn't 
get  a  red  to  explain  any  of  this  to  you — not  even  a  squaw  you 
have  lived  with  for  years.  They  certainly  do  stand  pat  for 
keeps." 

"Yet  once  in  a  while,"  smiled  Orme,  in  his  easy  way,  "a 
white  man  does  pick  up  some  of  these  tricks.  I  believe  I 
could  do  a  few  of  them  myself,  if  I  liked — in  fact,  I  have 

158    . 


GORDON    ORME,   MAGICIAN 

sometimes  learned  some  of  the  simpler  ones  for  my  own 
amusement." 

General  exclamations  of  surprise  and  doubt  greeted  him 
from  our  little  circle,  and  this  seemed  to  nettle  him  some 
what.  "By  Jove!"  he  went  on,  "if  you  doubt  it,  I  don't 
mind  trying  a  hand  at  it  right  now.  Perhaps  I  have  for 
gotten  something  of  my  old  skill,  but  we'll  see.  Come, 
hen." 

All  arose  now  and  gathered  about  him  on  the  ground 
there  in  the  full  sunlight.  He  evinced  no  uneasiness  or  sur 
prise,  and  he  employed  no  mechanism  or  deception  which 
we  could  detect. 

"My  good  man,"  said  he  to  Auberry,  "let  me  take  your 
knife."  Auberry  loosed  the  long  hunting- knife  at  his  belt 
and  handed  it  to  him.  Taking  it,  Orme  seated  himself 
cross-legged  on  a  white  blanket,  which  he  spread  out  on  the 
sandy  soil. 

All  at  once  Orme  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  surprise 
on  his  face.  "This  was  not  the  knife  I  wanted,"  he  said. 
"I  asked  for  a  plain  American  hunting-knife,  not  this  one. 
See,  you  have  given  me  a  Malay  kris!  I  have  not  the  slight 
est  idea  where  you  got  it." 

We  all  looked  intently  at  him.  There,  held  up  in  his 
hand,  was  full  proof  of  what  he  had  said — a  long  blade  of 
wavy  steel,  with  a  little  crooked,  carved  handle.  From  what 
I  had  read,  I  saw  this  to  be  a  kris,  a  wavy  bladed  knife  of  the 
Malays.  It  did  not  shine  or  gleam  in  the  sun,  but  threw 
back  a  dull  reflection  from  its  gray  steel,  as  though  lead  and 
silver  mingled  in  its  make.  The  blade  was  about  thirty 
inches  long,  whereas  that  of  Auberry's  knife  could  not  have 
exceeded  eight  inches  at  the  most. 

159 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"We  did  not  know  you  had  that  thing  around  you!"  ex 
claimed  Belknap.  "That  is  only  sleight  of  hand." 

"Is  it,  indeed?"  said  Orme,  smiling.  "I  tell  you,  I  did 
not  have  it  with  me.  After  all,  you  see  it  is  the  same  knife." 

We  all  gaped  curiously,  and  there,  as  I  am  a  living  man, 
we  saw  that  wavy  kris,  extended  in  his  hand,  turn  back  into 
the  form  of  the  plainsman's  hunting-knife!  A  gasp  of  won 
der  and  half  terror  came  from  the  circle.  Some  of  the  men 
drew  back.  I  heard  an  Irish  private  swear  and  saw  him 
cross  himself.  I  do  not  explain  these  things,  I  only  say  I 
saw  them. 

"I  was  mistaken,"  said  Orme,  politely,  "in  offering  so 
simple  a  test  as  this ;  but  now,  if  you  still  think  I  had  the  kris 
in  my  clothing — how  that  could  be,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure 
— and  if  you  still  wish  to  call  my  little  performance  sleight  of 
hand,  then  I'll  do  something  to  prove  what  I  have  said,  and 
make  it  quite  plain  that  all  my  friend  here  has  said  is  true 
and  more  than  true.  Watch  now,  and  you  will  see  blood 
drip  from  the  point  of  this  blade — every  drop  of  blood 
it  ever  drew,  of  man  or  animal.  Look,  now — watch  it 
closely." 

We  looked,  and  again,  as  I  am  a  living  man,  and  an  honest 
one,  I  hope,  I  saw,  as  the  others  did,  running  from  the  point 
of  the  steel  blade,  a  little  trickling  stream  of  red  blood!  It 
dropped  in  a  stream,  I  say,  and  fell  on  the  white  blanket 
upon  which  Orme  was  sitting.  It  stained  the  blanket  en 
tirely  red.  At  this  sight  the  entire  group  broke  apart,  only  a 
few  remaining  to  witness  the  rest  of  the  scene. 

I  do  not  attempt  to  explain  this  illusion,  or  whatever  it 
was.  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  lasted;  but  presently,  as  I 
may  testify,  I  saw  Orme  rise  and  kick  at  the  wetted,  blood- 

160 


GORDON   ORME,   MAGICIAN 

stained  blanket.  He  lifted  it,  heavy  with  dripping  blood. 
I  saw  the  blood  fall  from  its  corners  upon  the  ground. 

"Ah,"  he  remarked,  calmly,  "it's  getting  dry  now.  Here 
is  your  knife,  my  good  fellow." 

I  looked  about  me,  almost  disposed  to  rub  my  eyes,  as 
were,  perhaps,  the  others  of  our  party.  The  same  great 
plains  were  there,  the  same  wide  shimmering  stream,  rip 
pling  in  the  sunlight,  the  same  groups  of  animals  grazing  on 
the  bluff,  the  same  sentinels  outlined  against  the  sky.  Over 
all  shone  the  blinding  light  of  the  Western  mid-day  sun. 
Yet,  as  Orme  straightened  out  this  blanket,  it  was  white  as 
it  had  been  before!  Auberry  looked  at  his  knife  blade  as 
though  he  would  have  preferred  to  throw  it  away,  but  he 
sheathed  it  and  it  fitted  the  sheath  as  before. 

Orme  smiled  at  us  all  pleasantly.  "Do  you  believe  in  the 
Indian  telegraph  now?"  he  inquired. 

I  have  told  you  many  things  of  this  strange  man,  Gordon 
Orme,  and  I  shall  need  to  tell  yet  others.  Sometimes  my 
friends  smile  at  me  even  yet  over  these  things.  But  since 
that  day,  I  have  not  doubted  the  tales  old  Auberry  told  me 
of  our  own  Indians.  Since  then,  too,  I  have  better  under 
stood  Gordon  Orme  and  his  strange  personality,  the  like  of 
which  I  never  knew  in  any  land. 


161 


CHAPTER   XXI 

TWO   IN   THE   DESERT 

HOW  long  it  was  I  hardly  knew,  for  I  had  sunk  into 
a  sort  of  dull  apathy  in  which  one  day  was  much 
like  another ;  but  at  last  we  gathered  our  crippled 
party  together  and  broke  camp,  our  wounded  men  in  the 
wagons,  and  so  slowly  passed  on  westward,  up  the  trail. 
We  supposed,  what  later  proved  to  be  true,  that  the  Sioux 
had  raided  in  the  valley  on  both  sides  of  us,  and  that  the  scat 
tered  portions  of  the  army  had  all  they  could  do,  while  the 
freight  trains  were  held  back  until  the  road  was  clear. 

I  wearied  of  the  monotony  of  wagon  travel,  and  without 
council  with  any,  finally,  weak  as  I  was,  called  for  my  horse 
and  rode  on  slowly  with  the  walking  teams.     I  had  gone  for 
some  distance  before  I  heard  hoofs  on  the  sand  behind  me. 
"  Guess  who  it  is,"  called  a  voice.    "  Don't  turn  your  head." 
"I  can't  turn,"  I  answered;  "but  I  know  who  it  is." 
She  rode  up  alongside,  where  I  could  see  her;   and  fair 
enough  she  was  to  look  upon,  and  glad  enough  I  was  to  look. 
She  was  thinner  now  with  this  prairie  life,  and  browner,  and 
the  ends  of  her  hair  were  still  yellowing,  like  that  of  out 
doors  men.     She  still  was  booted  and  gloved  after  the  fashion 
of  civilization,  and  still  elsewise  garbed  in  the  aboriginal 
costume,   which  she  filled  and  honored  graciously.    The 
metal  cylinders  on  her  leggins  rattled  as  she  rode. 

162 


TWO    IN    THE   DESERT 

"You  ought  not  to  ride,"  she  said.     "You  are  pale." 

"You  are  beautiful,"  said  I;  "and  I  ride  because  you  are 
beautiful." 

Her  eyes  were  busy  with  her  gloves,  but  I  saw  a  sidelong 
glance.  "I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said,  demurely. 

"I  could  not  sit  back  there  in  the  wagon  and  think,"  said 
I.  "I  knew  that  you  would  be  riding  before  long,  and  I 
guessed  I  might,  perhaps,  talk  with  you." 

She  bit  her  lip  and  half  pulled  up  her  horse  as  if  to  fall 
back.  "That  will  depend,"  was  her  comment.  But  we 
rode  on,  side  by  side,  knee  to  knee. 

Many  things  I  had  studied  before  then,  for  certain  mys 
teries  had  come  to  me,  as  to  many  men,  who  wish  logically 
to  know  the  causes  of  great  phenomena.  From  boyhood  I 
had  pondered  many  things.  I  had  lain  on  my  back  and 
looked  up  at  the  stars  and  wondered  how  far  they  were,  and 
how  far  the  farthest  thing  beyond  them  was.  I  had  won 
dered  at  that  indeterminate  quotient  in  my  sums,  where  the 
same  figure  came,  always  the  same,  running  on  and  on.  I 
used  to  wonder  what  was  my  soul,  and  I  fancied  that  it  was 
a  pale,  blue  flaming  oblate,  somewhere  near  my  back  and  in 
the  middle  of  my  body — such  was  my  boyish  guess  of  what 
they  told  me  was  a  real  thing.  I  had  pondered  on  that  com 
pass  of  the  skies  by  which  the  wild  fowl  guide  themselves. 
I  had  wondered,  as  a  child,  how  far  the  mountains  ran.  As 
I  had  grown  older  I  had  read  the  law,  read  of  the  birth  of 
civilization,  pondered  on  laws  and  customs.  Declaring  that 
I  must  know  their  reasons,  I  had  read  of  marriages  in  many 
lands,  and  many  times  had  studied  into  the  questions  of 
dowry  and  bride-price,  and  consent  of  parents,  and  consent 
of  the  bride — studied  marriage  as  a  covenant,  a  contract,  as  a 

163 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

human  and  a  so-called  divine  thing.  I  had  questioned  the 
cause  of  the  old  myth  that  makes  Cupid  blind.  I  had  delved 
deep  as  I  might  in  law,  and  history  and  literature,  seeking  to 
solve,  as  I  might — what? 

Ah,  witless!  it  was  to  solve  this  very  riddle  that  rode  by 
my  side  now,  to  answer  the  question  of  the  Sphinx.  What 
had  come  of  all  my  studies?  Not  so  much  as  I  was  learning 
now,  here  in  the  open,  with  this  sweet  savage  woman  whose 
leggins  tinkled  as  she  rode,  whose  tunic  swelled  softly,  whose 
jaw  was  clean  and  brown.  How  weak  the  precepts  of  the 
social  covenant  seemed.  How  feeble  and  far  away  the  old 
world  we  too  had  known.  And  how  infinitely  sweet,  how 
compellingly  necessary  now  seemed  to  me  this  new,  sweet 
world  that  swept  around  us  now. 

We  rode  on,  side  by  side,  knee  to  knee.  Her  garments 
rustled  and  tinkled. 

Her  voice  awoke  me  from  my  brooding.  "I  wish,  Mr. 
Cowles,"  said  she,  "that  if  you  are  strong  enough  and  can 
do  so  without  discomfort,  you  would  ride  with  me  each  day 
when  I  ride." 

"Why?"  I  asked.  That  was  the  wish  in  my  own  mind; 
but  I  knew  her  reason  was  not  the  same  as  mine. 

"Because,"  she  said.  She  looked  at  me,  but  would  not 
answer  farther. 

"You  ought  to  tell  me,"  I  said  quietly. 

"Because  it  is  prescribed  for  you." 

"Not  by  my  doctor."     I  shook  my  head.     "Why,  then?" 

"Stupid — oh,  very  stupid  officer  and  gentleman!"  she 
said,  smiling  slowly.  "Lieutenant  Belknap  has  his  duties 
to  look  after;  and  as  for  Mr.  Orme,  I  am  not  sure  he  is  either 
officer  or  gentleman." 

164 


TWO   IN    THE  DESERT 

She  spoke  quietly  but  positively.  I  looked  on  straight  up 
the  valley  and  pondered.  Then  I  put  out  a  hand  and 
touched  the  fringe  of  her  sleeve. 

"I  am  going  to  try  to  be  a  gentleman,"  said  I.  "But  I 
wish  some  fate  would  tell  me  why  it  is  a  gentleman  can  be 
made  from  nothing  but  a  man." 


165 


CHAPTER   XXII 

MANDY  McGOVERN  ON  MARRIAGE 

OUR  slow  travel  finally  brought  us  near  to  the  his 
toric  forks  of  the  Platte  where  that  shallow 
stream  stretches  out  two  arms,  one  running  to 
the  mountains  far  to  the  south,  the  other  still  reaching  west 
ward  for  a  time.  Between  these  two  ran  the  Oregon  Trail, 
pointing  the  way  to  the  Pacific,  and  on  this  trail,  somewhere 
to  the  west,  lay  Laramie.  Before  us  now  lay  two  alterna 
tives.  We  could  go  up  the  beaten  road  to  Laramie,  or  we 
could  cross  here  and  take  an  old  trail  on  the  north  side  of 
the  river  for  a  time.  Auberry  thought  this  latter  would  give 
better  feed  and  water,  and  perhaps  be  safer  as  to  Indians, 
so  we  held  a  little  council  over  it. 

The  Platte  even  here  was  a  wide,  treacherous  stream,  its 
sandy  bottom  continuously  shifting.  At  night  the  melted 
floods  from  the  mountains  came  down  and  rendered  it 
deeper  than  during  the  day,  when  for  the  most  part  it  was 
scarcely  more  than  knee  deep.  Yet  here  and  there  at  any 
time,  undiscoverable  to  the  eye,  were  watery  pitfalls  where 
the  sand  was  washed  out,  and  in  places  there  was  shifting 
quicksand,  dangerous  for  man  or  animal. 

"We'll  have  to  boat  across,"  said  Auberry  finally.  "We 
couldn't  get  the  wagons  over  loaded."  Wherefore  we  pres 
ently  resorted  to  the  old  Plains  makeshift  of  calking  the 
wagon  bodies  and  turning  them  into  boats,  it  being  thought 

166 


MANDY  MCGOVERN   ON  MARRIAGE 

probable  that  two  or  three  days  would  be  required  to  make 
the  crossing  in  this  way.  By  noon  of  the  following  day  our 
rude  boats  were  ready  and  our  work  began. 

I  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  be  of  much  assistance,  so  I 
sat  on  the  bank  watching  the  busy  scene.  Our  men  were 
stripped  to  the  skin,  some  of  the  mountaineers  brown  almost 
as  Indians,  for  even  in  those  days  white  hunters  often  rode 
with  no  covering  but  the  blanket,  and  not  that  when  the  sun 
was  warm.  They  were  now  in,  now  out  of  the  water,  strain 
ing  at  the  lines  which  steadied  the  rude  boxes  that  bore  our 
goods,  pulling  at  the  heads  of  the  horses  and  mules,  shouting, 
steadying,  encouraging,  always  getting  forward.  It  took 
them  nearly  an  hour  to  make  the  first  crossing,  and  presently 
we  could  see  the  fire  of  their  farther  camp,  now  occupied  by 
some  of  those  not  engaged  in  the  work. 

As  I  sat  thus  I  was  joined  by  Mandy  McGovern,  who 
pulled  out  her  contemplative  pipe.  "Did  you  see  my  boy, 
Andy  Jackson?"  she  asked.  "He  went  acrost  with  the  first 
bunch — nary  stitch  of  clothes  on  to  him.  He  ain't  much 
thicker' n  a  straw,  but  say — he  was  a-rastlin'  them  mules  and 
a-swearin'  like  a  full-growed  man!  I  certainly  have  got  hopes 
that  boy's  goin'  to  come  out  all  right.  Say,  I  heerd  him  tell 
the  cook  this  mornin'  he  wasn't  goin'  to  take  no  more  sass 
off'n  him.  I  has  hopes — I  certainly  has  hopes,  that  Andrew 
Jackson  '11  kill  a  man  some  time  yit;  and  like  enough  it'll  be 
right  soon." 

I  gave  my  assent  to  this  amiable  hope,  and  presently 
Mandy  went  on. 

"But  say,  man,  you  and  me  has  got  to  get  that  girl  acrost 
somehow,  between  us.  You  know  her  and  me — and  some 
times  that  Englishman — travels  along  in  the  amberlanch. 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

She's  allowed  to  me  quiet  that  when  the  time  come  for  her 
to  go  acrost,  she'd  ruther  you  and  me  went  along.  She's  all 
ready  now,  if  you  air." 

"Very  good,"  said  I,  "we'll  go  now — they've  got  a  fire 
there,  and  are  cooking,  I  suppose." 

Mandy  left  me,  and  I  went  for  my  own  horse.  Presently 
we  three,  all  mounted,  met  at  the  bank.  Taking  the  girl 
between  us,  Mandy  and  I  started,  and  the  three  horses 
plunged  down  the  bank.  As  it  chanced,  we  struck  a  deep 
channel  at  the  send-off,  and  the  horses  were  at  once  sepa 
rated.  The  girl  was  swept  out  of  her  saddle,  but  before  I 
could  render  any  assistance  she  called  out  not  to  be  alarmed. 
I  saw  that  she  was  swimming,  down  stream  from  the  horse, 
with  one  hand  on  the  pommel.  Without  much  concern,  she 
reached  footing  on  the  bar  at  which  the  horse  scrambled  up. 

"Now  I'm  good  and  wet,"  laughed  she.  "It  won't  make 
any  difference  after  this.  I  see  now  how  the  squaws  do." 

We  plunged  on  across  the  stream,  keeping  our  saddles  for 
most  of  the  way,  sometimes  in  shallow  water,  sometimes  on 
dry,  sandy  bars,  and  now  and  again  in  swift,  swirling  chan 
nels;  but  at  last  we  got  over  and  fell  upon  the  steaks  of  buf 
falo  and  the  hot  coffee  which  we  found  at  the  fire.  The  girl 
presently  left  us  to  make  such  changes  in  her  apparel  as  she 
might.  Mandy  and  I  were  left  alone  once  more. 

"It  seems  to  me  like  it  certainly  is  too  bad,"  said  she  bit 
terly,  over  her  pipe  stem,  "that  there  don't  seem  to  be  no 
real  man  around  nowhere  fittin'  to  marry  a  real  woman. 
That  gal's  good  enough  for  a  real  man,  like  my  first  husband 
was." 

"What  could  he  do?"  I  asked  her,  smiling. 

"Snuff  a  candle  at  fifty  yards,  or  drive  a  nail  at  forty. 

168 


MANDY  MCGOVERN  ON   MARRIAGE 

He  nach'elly  scorned  to  bring  home  a  squirrel  shot  back  of 
the  ears.  He  killed  four  men  in  fair  knife  fightin',  an' 
each  time  come  free  in  co'te.  He  was  six  foot  in  the  clean, 
could  hug  like  a  bar,  and  he  wa'n't  skeered  of  anything  that 
drawed  the  breath  of  life." 

"Tell  me,  Aunt  Mandy,"  I  said,  "tell  me  how  he  came 
courting  you,  anyway." 

"He  never  did  no  great  at  co'tin',"  said  she,  grinning. 
"He  just  come  along,  an'  he  sot  eyes  on  me.  Then  he  sot 
eyes  on  me  again.  I  sot  eyes  on  him,  too." 

"Yes?" 

"One  evenin',  says  he,  'Mandy,  gal,  I'm  goin7  to  marry 
you  all  right  soon.' 

"Says  I,  'No,  you  ain't!' 

"Says  he,  'Yes,  I  air!'  I  jest  laughed  at  him  then  and 
started  to  run  away,  but  he  jumped  and  ketched  me — I  told 
you  he  could  hug  like  a  bar.  Mebbe  I  wasn't  hard  to  ketch. 
Then  he  holds  me  right  tight,  an'  says  he, '  Gal,  quit  this  here 
foolin'.  I'm  goin'  to  marry  you,  you  hear! — then  maybe  he 
kisses  me — law!  I  dunno!  Whut  business  is  it  o'  yourn, 
anyhow?  That's  about  all  there  was  to  it.  I  didn't  seem 
to  keer.  But  that,"  she  concluded,  "was  a  real  man.  He 
shore  had  my  other  two  men  plumb  faded." 

"What  became  of  your  last  husband,  Mandy?"  I  asked, 
willing  to  be  amused  for  a  time.  "Did  he  die?" 

"Nope,  didn't  die." 

"Divorced,  eh?" 

"Deevorced,  hell!    No,  I  tole  you,  I  up  an'  left  him." 

"Didn't  God  join  you  in  holy  wedlock,  Mandy?" 

"No,  it  was  the  Jestice  of  the  Peace." 

"Ah?" 

169 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"Yep.  And  them  ain't  holy  none — leastways  in  Mis 
souri.  But  say,  man,  look  yere,  it  ain't  God  that  marries 
folks,  and  it  ain't  Jestices  of  the  Peace — it's  their  selves" 

I  pondered  for  a  moment.  "But  your  vow — your  prom 
ise?" 

"My  promise?  Whut's  the  word  of  a  woman  to  a  man? 
Whut's  the  word  of  a  man  to  a  woman?  It  ain't  words, 
man,  it's  feelin's." 

"In  sickness  or  in  health?"  I  quoted. 

"That's  all  right,  if  your  feelin's  is  all  right.  The  Church 
is  all  right,  too.  I  ain't  got  no  kick.  All  I'm  sayin'  to  you 
is,  folks  marries  their  selves" 

I  pondered  yet  further.  "Mandy,"  said  I,  "suppose  you 
were  a  man,  and  your  word  was  given  to  a  girl,  and  you  met 
another  girl  and  couldn't  get  her  out  of  your  head,  or  out  of 
your  heart — you  loved  the  new  one  most  and  knew  you 
always  would — what  would  you  do?" 

But  the  Sphinx  of  womanhood  may  lie  under  linsey- 
woolsey  as  well  as  silk.  "Man,"  said  she,  rising  and  knock 
ing  her  pipe  against  her  bony  knee,  "you  talk  like  a  fool.  If 
my  first  husband  was  alive,  he  might  maybe  answer  that  for 
you." 


170 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

ISSUE   JOINED 

EER  in  the  evening,  Mandy  McGovern  having  left 
me,  perhaps  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  her  pro- 
te'ge'e  in  the  somewhat  difficult  art  of  drying  buck 
skin  clothing,  I  was  again  alone  on  the  river  bank,  idly 
watching  the  men  out  on  the  bars,  struggling  with  their 
teams  and  box  boats.  Orme  had  crossed  the  river  some 
time  earlier,  and  now  he  joined  me  at  the  edge  of  our  dis 
ordered  camp. 

"How  is  the  patient  getting  along?"  he  inquired.  I  re 
plied,  somewhat  surlily,  I  fear,  that  I  was  doing  very  well, 
and  thenceforth  intended  to  ride  horseback  and  to  comport 
myself  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

"I  am  somewhat  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  he,  still  smiling 
in  his  own  way.  "I  was  in  hopes  that  you  would  be  dis 
posed  to  turn  back  down  the  river,  if  Belknap  would  spare 
you  an  escort  east." 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "I  don't  in  the  least  under 
stand  why  I  should  be  going  east,  when  my  business  lies  in 
precisely  the  opposite  direction,"  I  remarked,  coolly. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  will  make  myself  plain,"  he  went  on, 
seating  himself  beside  me.  "  Granted  that  you  will  get  well 
directly — which  is  very  likely,  for  the  equal  of  this  Plains 
air  for  surgery  does  not  exist  in  the  world — I  may  perhaps 
point  out  to  you  that  at  least  your  injury  might  serve  as  an 

171 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

explanation — as  an  excuse — you  might  put  it  that  way — 
for  your  going  back  home.  I  thought  perhaps  that  your 
duty  lay  there  as  well." 

"You  become  somewhat  interested  in  my  affairs,  Mr. 
Orme?" 

"Very  much  so,  if  you  force  me  to  say  it." 

"I  think  they  need  trouble  you  no  farther." 

"I  thought  that  possibly  you  might  be  sensible  of  a  certain 
obligation  to  me,"  he  began. 

"I  am  deeply  sensible  of  it.  Are  you  pleased  to  tell  me 
what  will  settle  this  debt  between  us?" 

He  turned  squarely  toward  me  and  looked  me  keenly  in 
the  eye.  "I  have  told  you.  Turn  about  and  go  home. 
That  is  all."  . 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"But  I  understand  your  position  perfectly." 

"Meaning?" 

"That  your  affections  are  engaged  with  a  highly  respecta 
ble  young  lady  back  at  your  home  in  Virginia.  Wait — " 
he  raised  his  hand  as  I  turned  toward  him.  "  Meaning  also," 
he  went  on,  "that  your  affections  are  apparently  also  some 
what  engaged  with  an  equally  respectable  young  lady  who  is 
not  back  home  in  Virginia.  Therefore " 

He  caught  my  wrist  in  a  grip  of  steel  as  I  would  have 
struck  him.  I  saw  then  that  I  still  was  weak. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  smiling  coldly.  "Wait  till  you  are 
stronger." 

"You  are  right,"  I  said,  "but  we  shall  settle  these  matters." 

"That,  of  course.  But  in  the  meantime,  I  have  only  sug 
gested  to  you  that  could  you  agree  with  me  in  my  point  of 
view  our  obligation  as  it  stands  would  be  settled." 

172 


ISSUE  JOINED 

"Orme,"  said  I,  suddenly,  "your  love  is  a  disgrace  to  any 
woman." 

"Usually,"  he  admitted,  calmly,  "but  not  in  this  case.  I 
propose  to  marry  Miss  Meri wether;  and  I  tell  you  frankly, 
I  do  not  propose  to  have  anything  stand  in  my  way." 

"Then,  by  God!"  I  cried,  "take  her.  Why  barter  and 
dicker  over  any  woman  with  another  man?  The  field  is 
open.  Do  what  you  can.  I  know  that  is  the  way  I'd 
do." 

"Oh,  certainly;  but  one  needs  all  his  chances  even  in  an 
open  field,  in  a  matter  so  doubtful  as  this.  I  thought  that  I 
would  place  it  before  you — knowing  your  situation  back  in 
Virginia — and  ask  you " 

"Orme,"  said  I,  "one  question — Why  did  you  not  kill  me 
the  other  day  when  you  could?  Your  tracks  would  have  been 
covered.  As  it  is,  I  may  later  have  to  uncover  some  tracks 
for  you." 

"I  preferred  it  the  other  way,"  he  remarked,  still  smiling 
his  inscrutable  smile. 

"You  surely  had  no  scruples  about  it." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I'd  as  soon  have  killed  you  as  to  have 
taken  a  drink  of  water.  But  I  simply  love  to  play  any  kind 
of  game  that  tests  me,  tries  me,  puts  me  to  my  utmost  mettle. 
I  played  that  game  in  my  own  way." 

"I  was  never  very  subtle,"  I  said  to  him  simply. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  you  are  rather  dull.  I  dared  not 
kill  you — it  would  have  been  a  mistake  in  the  game.  It 
would  have  cost  me  her  sympathy  at  once.  Since  I  did  not, 
and  since,  therefore,  you  owe  me  something  for  that  fact, 
what  do  you  say  about  it  yourself,  my  friend?" 

I  thought  for  a  long  time,  my  head  between  my  hands, 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

before  I  answered  him.     "That  I  shall  pay  you  some  day, 
Orme,  but  not  in  any  such  way  as  you  suggest." 
"Then  it  is  to  be  war?"  he  asked,  quietly. 
I  shrugged  my  shoulders.     "You  heard  me." 
"Very  well!"   he  replied,  calmly,  after  a  while.     "But 
listen.     I  don't  forget.     If  I  do  not  have  my  pay  voluntarily 
in  the  way  I  ask,  I  shall  some  day  collect  it  in  my  own 
fashion." 

"As  you  like.  But  we  Cowles  men  borrow  no  fears  very 
far  in  advance." 

Orme  rose  and  stood  beside  me,  his  slender  figure  re 
sembling  less  that  of  a  man  than  of  some  fierce  creature, 
animated  by  some  uncanny  spirit,  whose  motives  did  not 
parallel  those  of  human  beings.  "Then,  Mr.  Cowles,  you 
do  not  care  to  go  back  down  the  valley,  and  to  return  to  the 
girl  in  Virginia?" 

"You  are  a  coward  to  make  any  such  request." 
His  long  white  teeth  showed  as  he  answered.     "Very 
well,"  he  said.     "It  is  the  game.    Let  the  best  man  win. 
Shall  it  then  be  war?" 

"Let  the  best  man  win,"  I  answered.     "It  is  war." 
We  both  smiled,  each  into  the  other's  face. 


174 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

FORSAKING   ALL   OTHERS 

WEN  finally  our  entire  party  had  been  gotten 
icross  the  Platte,  and  we  had  resumed  our  west- 
.vard  journey,  the  routine  of  travel  was,  for  the 
time,  broken  and  our  line  of  march  became  somewhat  scat 
tered  across  the  low,  hilly  country  to  which  we  presently 
came.  For  my  own  part,  our  progress  seemed  too  slow, 
and  mounting  my  horse,  I  pushed  on  in  advance  of  the 
column,  careless  of  what  risk  this  might  mean  in  an  Indian 
country.  I  wished  to  be  alone;  and  yet  I  wished  to  be  not 
alone.  I  hoped  that  might  occur  which  presently  actually 
did  happen. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  I  heard  her  horse's  feet 
coming  up  behind  me  as  I  rode.  She  passed  me  at  a  gallop, 
laughing  back  as  though  in  challenge,  and  so  we  raced  on  for 
a  time,  until  we  quite  left  out  of  sight  behind  us  the  remainder 
of  our  party.  Ellen  Meriwether  was  a  Virginia  girl  with 
Western  experience,  and  it  goes  without  saying  that  she  rode 
well — of  course  in  the  cavalry  saddle  and  with  the  cross  seat. 
Her  costume  still  was  composed  of  the  somewhat  shriveled 
and  wrinkled  buckskins  which  had  been  so  thoroughly  wetted 
in  crossing  the  river.  I  noticed  that  she  had  now  even  dis 
carded  her  shoes,  and  wore  the  aboriginal  costume  almost  in 
full,  moccasins  and  all,  her  gloves  and  hat  alone  remaining 
to  distinguish  her  in  appearance  at  a  distance  from  a  native 

175 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

woman  of  the  Plains.  The  voluminous  and  beruffled  skirts 
of  the  period,  and  that  feminine  monstrosity  of  the  day,  the 
wide  spreading  crinoline,  she  had  left  far  behind  her  at  the 
Missouri  River.  Again  the  long  curls,  which  civilization  at 
that  time  decreed,  had  been  forgotten.  Her  hair  at  the  front 
and  sides  half-waved  naturally,  but  now,  instead  of  neck 
curls  or  the  low  dressing  of  the  hair  which  in  those  days 
partly  covered  the  fashionable  forehead,  she  had,  like  a  native 
woman,  arranged  her  hair  in  two  long  braids.  Her  hat,  no 
longer  the  flat  straw  or  the  flaring,  rose-laden  bonnet  of  the 
city,  was  now  simply  a  man's  cavalry  hat,  and  almost  her 
only  mark  of  coquetry  was  the  rakish  cockade  which  confined 
it  at  one  side.  Long,  heavy-hooped  earrings  such  as  women 
at  that  time  wore,  and  which  heretofore  I  had  never  known 
her  to  employ,  she  now  disported.  Brown  as  her  face  was 
now  becoming,  one  might  indeed,  at  a  little  distance,  have 
suspected  her  to  be  rather  a  daughter  of  the  Plains  than  a 
belle  of  civilization.  I  made  some  comment  on  this.  She 
responded  by  sitting  the  more  erect  in  her  saddle  and  draw 
ing  a  long,  deep  breath. 

"I  think  I  shall  throw  away  my  gloves,"  she  said,  "and 
hunt  up  some  brass  bracelets.  I  grow  more  Indian  every 
day.  Isn't  it  glorious,  here  on  the  Plains?  Isn't  it  glorious!" 

It  so  seemed  to  me,  and  I  so  advised  her,  saying  I  wished 
the  western  journey  might  be  twice  as  long. 

"But  Mr.  Orme  was  saying  that  he  rather  thought  you 
might  take  an  escort  and  go  back  down  the  river." 

"I  wish  Mr.  Orme  no  disrespect,"  I  answered,  "but 
neither  he  nor  any  one  else  regulates  my  travel.  I  have 
already  told  you  how  necessary  it  was  for  me  to  see  your 
father,  Colonel  Meri wether." 

176 


FORSAKING   ALL   OTHERS 

"Yes,  I  remember.  But  tell  me,  why  did  not  your  father 
himself  come  out?" 

I  did  not  answer  her  for  a  time.  "My  father  is  dead," 
I  replied  finally. 

I  saw  her  face  flush  in  quick  trouble  and  embarrassment. 
"Why  did  you  not  tell  me?  I  am  so  sorry!  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"No,"  I  answered  quietly,  "we  Quakers  never  wish  to 
intrude  our  own  griefs,  or  make  any  show  of  them.  I  should 
have  told  you,  but  there  were  many  other  things  that  pre 
vented  for  the  time."  Then,  briefly,  I  reviewed  the  hap 
penings  that  had  led  to  my  journey  into  the  West.  Her 
sympathy  was  sweet  to  me. 

"So  now,  you  see,  I  ought  indeed  to  return,"  I  concluded, 
"but  I  can  not.  We  shall  be  at  Laramie  now  very  soon. 
After  that  errand  I  shall  go  back  to  Virginia." 

"And  that  will  be  your  home?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  bitterly.  -"I  shall  settle  down  and  become 
a  staid  old  farmer.  I  shall  be  utterly  cheerless." 

"You  must  not  speak  so.     You  are  young." 

"But  you,"  I  ventured,  "will  always  live  with  the  Army?" 

"Why,  our  home  is  in  Virginia,  too,  over  in  old  Albe- 
marle,  though  we  don't  often  see  it.  I  have  been  West  since 
I  came  out  of  school,  pretty  much  all  the  time,  and  unless 
there  should  be  a  war  I  suppose  I  shall  stay  always  out  here 
with  my  father.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  very  young." 

"And  you  will  never  come  back  to  quiet  old  Virginia, 
where  plodding  farmers  go  on  as  their  fathers  did  a  hundred 
years  ago?" 

She  made  no  immediate  answer,  and  when  she  did,  appar 
ently  mused  on  other  things.  "The  Plains,"  she  said, 

177 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

"how  big — how  endless  they  are!  Is  it  not  all  wild  and 
free?" 

Always  she  came  back  to  that  same  word  "free."  Always 
she  spoke  of  wildness,  of  freedom. 

"For  all  one  could  tell,  there  might  be  lions  and  tigers 
and  camels  and  gazelles  out  there."  She  gestured  vaguely 
toward  the  wide  horizon.  "It  is  the  desert." 

We  rode  on  for  a  time,  silent,  and  I  began  to  hum  to  my 
self  the  rest  of  the  words  of  an  old  song,  then  commonly 

heard : 

"  O  come  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
For  thee  the  jungle's  depths  I'll  rove. 
I'll  chase  the  antelope  over  the  plain, 
And  the  tiger's  cub  I'll  bind  with  a  chain, 
And  the  wild  gazelle  with  the  silvery  feet 
I'll  give  to  thee  for  a  playmate  sweet." 

"Poets,"  said  I,  "can  very  well  sing  about  such  things, 
but  perhaps  they  could  not  practice  all  they  sing.  They 
always " 

"Hush!"  she  whispered,  drawing  her  horse  gently  down 
to  a  walk,  and  finally  to  a  pause.  "Look!  Over  there  is 
one  of  the  wild  gazelles." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes  and  saw,  peering 
curiously  down  at  us  from  beyond  the  top  of  a  little  ridge, 
something  like  a  hundred  yards  away,  the  head,  horns,  and 
neck  of  a  prong-horn  buck,  standing  facing  us,  and  seeming 
not  much  thicker  than  a  knife  blade.  Her  keen  eyes  caught 
this  first;  my  own,  I  fancy,  being  busy  elsewhere.  At  once 
I  slipped  out  of  my  saddle  and  freed  the  long,  heavy  rifle 
from  its  sling.  I  heard  her  voice,  hard  now  with  eagerness. 
I  caught  a  glance  at  her  face,  brown  between  her  braids- 
She  was  a  savage  woman! 


FORSAKING  ALL   OTHERS 

11  Quick!"  she  whispered.     " He'll  run." 

Eager  as  she,  but  deliberately,  I  raised  the  long  barrel  to 
line  and  touched  the  trigger.  I  heard  the  thud  of  the  ball 
against  the  antelope's  shoulder,  and  had  no  doubt  that  we 
should  pick  it  up  dead,  for  it  disappeared,  apparently  end 
over  end,  at  the  moment  of  the  shot.  Springing  into  the 
saddle,  I  raced  with  my  companion  to  the  top  of  the  ridge. 
But,  lo!  there  was  the  antelope  two  hundred  yards  away, 
and  going  as  fast  on  three  legs  as  our  horses  were  on 
four. 

"Ride!"  she  called.  "Hurry!"  And  she  spurred  off  at 
breakneck  speed  in  pursuit,  myself  following,  both  of  us 
now  forgetting  poesy,  and  quite  become  creatures  of  the 
chase. 

The  prong-horn,  carrying  lead  as  only  the  prong-horn 
can,  kept  ahead  of  us,  ridge  after  ridge,  farther  and  farther 
away,  mile  after  mile,  until  our  horses  began  to  blow  heavily, 
and  our  own  faces  were  covered  with  perspiration.  Still  we 
raced  on,  neck  and  neck,  she  riding  with  hands  low  and 
weight  slightly  forward,  workmanlike  as  a  jockey.  Now  and 
again  I  heard  her  call  out  in  eagerness. 

We  should  perhaps  have  continued  this  chase  until  one 
or  the  other  of  the  horses  dropped,  but  now  her  horse  picked 
up  a  pebble  and  went  somewhat  lame.  She  pulled  up  and 
told  me  to  ride  on  alone.  After  a  pause  I  slowly  approached 
the  top  of  the  next  ridge,  and  there,  as  I  more  than  half  sus 
pected,  I  saw  the  antelope  lying  down,  its  head  turned  back. 
Eager  to  finish  the  chase,  I  sprang  down,  carelessly  neglect 
ing  to  throw  the  bridle  rein  over  my  horse's  head.  Dropping 
flat,  I  rested  on  my  elbow  and  fired  carefully  once  more. 
This  time  the  animal  rolled  over  dead.  I  rose,  throwing  up 

179 


THE  WAY   OF  A  MAN 

my  hat  with  a  shout  of  victory,  and  I  heard,  shrilling  to  me 
across  the  distance,  her  own  cry  of  exultation,  as  that  of 
some  native  woman  applauding  a  red  hunter. 

Alas  for  our  joy  of  victory  1  Our  success  was  our  undo 
ing.  The  very  motion  of  my  throwing  up  my  hat,  boyish 
as  it  was,  gave  fright  to  my  horse,  already  startled  by  the 
shot.  He  flung  up  his  head  high,  snorted,  and  was  off,  fast 
as  he  could  go.  I  followed  him  on  foot,  rapidly  as  I  could, 
but  he  would  none  of  that,  and  was  all  for  keeping  away 
from  me  at  a  safe  distance.  This  the  girl  saw,  and  she  rode 
up  now,  springing  down  and  offering  me  her  horse. 

"Stay  here,"  I  called  to  her  as  I  mounted.  "I'll  be  back 
directly";  and  then  with  such  speed  as  I  could  spur  out  of 
my  new  mount,  I  started  again  after  the  fugitive. 

It  was  useless.  Her  horse,  already  lame  and  weary,  and 
further  handicapped  by  my  weight,  could  not  close  with  the 
free  animal,  and  without  a  rope  to  aid  me  in  the  capture,  it 
would  have  been  almost  impossible  to  have  stopped  him, 
even  had  I  been  able  to  come  alongside.  I  headed  him  time 
and  again,  and  turned  him,  but  it  was  to  no  purpose.  At 
last  I  suddenly  realized  that  I  had  no  idea  how  far  I  had 
gone  or  in  what  direction.  I  must  now  think  of  my  com 
panion.  Never  was  more  welcome  sight  than  when  I  saw 
her  on  a  distant  ridge,  waving  her  hat.  I  gave  up  the  chase 
and  returned  to  her,  finding  that  in  her  fatigue  she  had  sunk 
to  the  ground  exhausted.  She  herself  had  run  far  away 
from  the  spot  where  I  had  left  her. 

"I  was  afraid,"  she  panted.  "I  followed.  Can't  you 
catch  him?" 

"No,"  said  I,  "he's  gone.  He  probably  will  go  back  to 
the  trail." 

180 


FORSAKING  ALL   OTHERS 

"No,"  she  said,  "they  run  wild,  sometimes.  But  now 
what  shall  we  do?" 

I  looked  at  her  in  anxiety.  I  had  read  all  my  life  of  being 
afoot  on  the  Plains.  Here  was  the  reality. 

"But  you  are  hurt,"  she  cried.  "Look,  your  wound  is 
bleeding." 

I  had  not  known  it,  but  my  neck  was  wet  with  blood. 

"Get  up  and  ride,"  she  said.  "We  must  be  going." 
But  I  held  the  stirrup  for  her  instead,  smiling. 

"Mount!"  I  said,  and  so  I  put  her  up. 

"Shall  we  go  back  to  camp?"  she  asked  in  some  perturba 
tion,  apparently  forgetting  that  there  was  no  camp,  and  that 
by  this  time  the  wagons  would  be  far  to  the  west.  For  rea 
sons  of  my  own  I  thought  it  better  to  go  back  to  the  dead 
antelope,  and  so  I  told  her. 

"It  is  over  there,"  she  said,  pointing  in  the  direction  from 
which  she  thought  she  had  come.  I  differed  with  her,  remem 
bering  I  had  ridden  with  the  sun  in  my  face  when  following  it, 
and  remembering  the  shape  of  the  hilltop  near  by.  Finally 
my  guess  proved  correct,  and  we  found  the  dead  animal, 
nearly  a  mile  from  where  she  had  waited  for  me.  I  hurried 
with  the  butchering,  cutting  the  loin  well  forward,  and  roll 
ing  it  all  tight  in  the  hide,  bound  the  meat  behind  the  saddle. 

"Now,  shall  we  go  back?"  she  asked.  "If  we  rode  oppo 
site  to  the  sun,  we  might  strike  the  trail.  These  hills  look 
all  alike." 

"The  river  runs  east  and  west,"  I  said,  "so  we  might 
perhaps  better  strike  to  the  southward." 

"But  I  heard  them  say  that  the  river  bends  far  to  the 
south  not  far  from  where  we  crossed.  We  might  parallel 
the  river  if  we  went  straight  south." 

181 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"But  does  not  the  trail  cut  off  the  bend,  and  run  straight 
west?"  I  rejoined.  Neither  of  us  knew  that  the  course  of 
the  north  fork  ran  thence  far  to  the  northwest  and  quite 
away  from  the  trail  to  Laramie. 

Evidently  our  council  was  of  little  avail.  We  started 
southwest  as  nearly  as  we  could  determine  it,  and  I  admit 
that  grave  anxiety  had  now  settled  upon  me.  In  that  mo 
notonous  country  only  the  sun  and  the  stars  might  guide 
one.  Now,  hard  as  it  was  to  admit  the  thought,  I  realized 
that  we  would  be  most  fortunate  if  we  saw  the  wagons  again 
that  night.  I  had  my  watch  with  me,  and  with  this  I  made 
the  traveler's  compass,  using  the  dial  and  the  noon  mark  to 
orient  myself;  but  this  was  of  small  assistance,  for  we  were 
not  certain  of  the  direction  of  the  compass  in  which  the 
trail  lay.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  probable  that  we  went 
rather  west  than  southwest,  and  so  paralleled  both  the  trail 
and  the  river  for  more  than  a  dozen  miles  that  afternoon. 
The  girl's  face  was  very  grave,  and  now  and  again  she  watched 
me  walking  or  trotting  alongside  at  such  speed  as  I  could 
muster.  My  clothing  was  covered  with  blood  from  my 
wound. 

I  looked  always  for  some  little  rivulet  which  I  knew  must 
lead  us  to  the  Platte,  but  we  struck  no  running  water  until 
late  that  evening,  and  then  could  not  be  sure  that  we  had 
found  an  actual  water  course.  There  were  some  pools  of 
water  standing  in  a  coulee,  at  whose  head  grew  a  clump  of 
wild  plum  trees  and  other  straggly  growth.  At  least  here 
was  water  and  some  sort  of  shelter.  I  dared  go  no  farther. 

Over  in  the  west  I  saw  rising  a  low,  black  bank  of  clouds. 
A  film  was  coming  across  the  sky.  Any  way  I  looked  I 
could  see  no  break,  no  landmark,  no  trend  of  the  land  which 

182 


FORSAKING   ALL   OTHERS 

could  offer  any  sort  of  guidance.  I  wished  myself  all  places 
in  the  world  but  there,  and  reproached  myself  bitterly  that 
through  my  clumsiness  I  had  brought  the  girl  into  such  a 
situation. 

"Miss  Meriwether,"  I  said  to  her  finally,  putting  my  hand 
on  the  pommel  of  her  saddle  as  we  halted,  "it's  no  use.  We 
might  as  well  admit  it;  we  are  lost." 


183 


CHAPTER    XXV 

CLEAVING   ONLY   UNTO   HER 

SHE  made  no  great  outcry.     I  saw  her  bend  her  face 
forward  into  her  hands. 
"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  I  to  her  soberly;  "but  since  there 
is  water  here  and  a  little  shelter,  it  is  my  belief  that  we  ought 
to  stop  here  for  the  night." 

She  looked  out  across  the  gray  monotony  that  surrounded 
us,  toward  the  horizon  now  grown  implacable  and  ominous. 
Her  eyes  were  wide,  and  evidently  she  was  pondering  mat 
ters  in  her  mind.  At  last  she  turned  to  me  and  held  out  her 
hands  for  me  to  assist  her  in  dismounting. 

"John  Cowles,  of  Virginia"  she  said,  "I  am  sorry  we 
are  lost." 

I  could  make  no  answer,  save  to  vow  silently  that  if  I 
lived  she  must  be  returned  safely  to  her  home,  unhurt  body 
and  soul.  I  dared  not  ponder  on  conventions  in  a  case  so 
desperate  as  I  knew  ours  yet  might  be.  Silently  I  unsad 
dled  the  horse  and  hobbled  it  securely  as  I  might  with  the 
bridle  rein.  Then  I  spread  the  saddle  blanket  for  her  to 
sit  upon,  and  hurried  about  for  Plains  fuel.  Water  we  drank 
from  my  hat,  and  were  somewhat  refreshed.  Now  we  had 
food  and  water.  We  needed  fire.  But  this,  when  I  came  to 
fumble  in  my  pockets,  seemed  at  first  impossible,  for  I  found 
not  a  match. 

184 


CLEAVING   ONLY   UNTO   HER 

"I  was  afraid  of  that,"  she  said,  catching  the  meaning  of 
my  look.  "What  shall  we  do?  We  shall  starve!" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  I,  stoutly.  "  We  are  good  Indians 
enough  to  make  a  fire,  I  hope." 

In  my  sheath  was  a  heavy  hunting  knife ;  and  now,  search 
ing  about  us  on  the  side  of  the  coulee  bank,  I  found  several 
flints,  hard  and  white.  Then  I  tore  out  a  bit  of  my  coat 
lining  and  moistened  it  a  trifle,  and  saturated  it  with  powder 
from  my  flask,  rubbed  in  until  it  all  was  dry.  This  niter- 
soaked  fabric  I  thought  might  serve  as  tinder  for  the  spark. 
So  then  I  struck  flint  and  steel,  and  got  the  strange  spark, 
hidden  in  the  cold  stone  ages  and  ages  there  on  the  Plains; 
and  presently  the  spark  was  a  little  flame,  and  then  a  good 
fire,  and  so  we  were  more  comfortable. 

We  roasted  meat  now,  flat  on  the  coals,  the  best  we  might, 
and  so  we  ate,  with  no  salt  to  aid  us.  The  girl  became  a 
trifle  more  cheerful,  though  still  distant  and  quiet.  If  I 
rose  to  leave  the  fire  for  an  instant,  I  saw  her  eyes  following 
me  all  the  time.  I  knew  her  fears,  though  she  did  not  com 
plain. 

Man  is  the  most  needful  of  all  the  animals,  albeit  the  most 
resourceful.  We  needed  shelter,  and  we  had  none.  Night 
came  on.  The  great  gray  wolves,  haunters  of  the  buffalo 
herds,  roared  their  wild  salute  to  us,  savage  enough  to  strike 
terror  to  any  woman's  soul.  The  girl  edged  close  to  me  as 
the  dark  came  down.  We  spoke  but  little.  Our  dangers 
had  not  yet  made  us  other  than  conventional. 

Now,  worst  of  all,  the  dark  bank  of  cloud  arose  and  blotted 
out  all  the  map  of  the  stars.  The  sun  scarce  had  sunk  be 
fore  a  cold  breath,  silent,  with  no  motion  in  its  coming, 
swept  across  or  settled  down  upon  the  Plains.  The  little 

185 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

grasses  no  longer  stirred  in  the  wind.  The  temperature 
mysteriously  fell  more  and  more,  until  it  was  cold,  very 
cold.  And  those  pale,  heatless  flames,  icy  as  serpent  tongues, 
played  along  the  darkening  heavens,  and  mocked  at  us  who 
craved  warmth  and  shelter.  I  felt  my  own  body  shiver. 
She  looked  at  me  startled. 

"You  are  cold,"  said  she. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "only  angry  because  I  am  so  weak." 
We  sat  silent  for  very  long  intervals.  At  length  she  raised 
her  hand  and  pointed. 

Even  as  dusk  sank  upon  us,  all  the  lower  sky  went  black. 
An  advancing  roar  came  upon  our  ears.  And  then  a  blind 
ing  wave  of  rain  drove  across  the  surface  of  the  earth,  wiping 
out  the  day,  beating  down  with  remorseless  strength  and 
volume  as  though  it  would  smother  and  drown  us  twain  in 
its  deluge — us,  the  last  two  human  creatures  of  the  world! 

It  caught  us,  that  wave  of  damp  and  darkness,  and  rolled 
over  us  and  crushed  us  down  as  we  cowered.  I  caught  up 
the  blanket  from  the  ground  and  pulled  it  around  the  girl's 
shoulders.  I  drew  her  tight  to  me  as  I  lay  with  my  own 
back  to  the  storm,  and  pulled  the  saddle  over  her  head, 
with  this  and  my  own  body  keeping  out  the  tempest  from 
her  as  much  as  I  could.  There  was  no  other  fence  for  her, 
and  but  for  this  she  might  perhaps  have  died ;  I  do  not  know. 
I  felt  her  strain  at  my  arms  first,  then  settle  back  and  sink 
her  head  under  the  saddle  flap  and  cower  close  like  some 
little  schoolfellow,  all  the  curves  of  her  body  craving  shelter, 
comfort,  warmth.  She  shivered  terribly.  I  heard  her  gasp 
and  sob.  Ah,  how  I  pitied  her  that  hour! 

Our  fire  was  gone  at  the  first  sweep  of  the  storm,  which 
raged  thunderously  by,  with  heavy  feet,  over  the  echoing 

186 


CLEAVING   ONLY    UNTO   HER 

floor  of  the  world.  There  came  other  fires,  such  blazes  and 
explosions  of  pale  balls  of  electricity  as  I  had  never  dreamed 
might  be,  with  these  detonations  of  pent-up  elemental  wrath 
such  as  I  never  conceived  might  have  existence  under  any 
sky.  Night,  death,  storm,  the  strength  of  the  elements,  all 
the  primeval  factors  of  the  world  and  life  were  upon  us, 
testing  us,  seeking  to  destroy  us,  beating  upon  us,  freezing, 
choking,  blinding  us,  leaving  us  scarce  animate. 

Yet  not  destroying  us.  Still,  somewhere  under  the  huddle 
and  draggle  of  it  all  burned  on  the  human  soul.  The  steel 
in  my  belt  was  cold,  but  it  had  held  its  fire.  The  ice  in  the 
flints  about  us  held  fire  also  in  its  depths.  Fire  was  in  our 
bodies,  the  fire  of  life — indomitable,  yearning — in  our  two 
bodies.  So  that  which  made  the  storm  test  us  and  try  us 
and  seek  to  slay  us,  must  perhaps  have  smiled  grimly  as  it 
howled  on  and  at  length  disappeared,  baffled  by  the  final 
success  of  the  immutable  and  imperishable  scheme.  The 
fire  in  our  two  bodies  still  was  there. 

As  the  rain  lessened,  and  the  cold  increased,  I  knew  that 
rigors  would  soon  come  upon  us.  "We  must  walk,"  I  said. 
"You  shiver,  you  freeze." 

"You  tremble,"  she  said.  "You  are  cold.  You  are  very 
cold." 

"Walk,  or  we  die,"  I  gasped;  and  so  I  led  her  at  last 
lower  down  the  side  of  the  ravine,  where  the  wind  was  not 
so  strong. 

"We  must  run,"  I  said,  "or  we  shall  die."  I  staggered  as 
I  ran.  With  all  my  soul  I  challenged  my  weakness,  sum 
moning  to  my  aid  that  reserve  of  strength  I  had  always 
known  each  hour  in  my  life.  Strangely  I  felt — how  I  can 
not  explain — that  she  must  be  saved,  that  she  was  I.  Strange 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

phrases  ran  .through  my  brain.  I  remembered  only  one, 
" Cleaving  only  unto  her";  and  this,  in  my  weakened  frame 
of  body  and  mind,  I  could  not  separate  from  my  stern  prayer 
to  my  own  strength,  once  so  ready,  now  so  strangely  de 
parted  from  me. 

We  ran  as  we  might,  back  and  forward  on  the  slippery 
mud,  scrambled  up  and  down,  panting,  until  at  length  our 
hearts  began  to  beat  more  quickly,  and  the  love  of  life  came 
back  strongly,  and  the  unknown,  mysterious  fire  deep  down 
somewhere,  inscrutable,  elemental,  began  to  flicker  up  once 
more,  and  we  were  saved — saved,  we  two  savages,  we  two 
primitive  human  beings,  the  only  ones  left  alive  after  the 
deluge  which  had  flooded  all  the  earth — left  alive  to  begin 
the  world  all  over  again. 


188 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

IN  SICKNESS   AND  IN  HEALTH 

TO  THE  delirious  or  the  perishing  man,  time  has 
no  measuring.     I  do  not  know  how  we  spent  the 
night,  or  how  long  it  was.     Some  time  it  became 
morning,  if  morning  might  be  called  this  gray  and  cheerless 
lifting  of  the  gloom,  revealing  to  us  the  sodden  landscape, 
overcast  with  still  drizzling  skies  which  blotted  out  each  ray 
of  sunlight. 

Search  what  way  I  might,  I  could  find  nothing  to  relieve 
our  plight.  I  knew  that  Auberry  would  before  this  time 
have  gone  back  to  follow  our  trail,  perhaps  starting  after  us 
even  before  night  had  approached;  but  now  the  rain  had 
blotted  out  all  manner  of  trails,  so  rescue  from  that  source 
was  not  to  be  expected.  Not  even  we  ourselves  could  tell 
where  we  had  wandered,  nor  could  we,  using  the  best  of  our 
wits  as  we  then  had  them,  do  more  than  vaguely  guess  where 
our  fellow  travelers  by  that  time  might  be.  Neither  did  we 
know  distance  nor  direction  of  any  settlement.  What  geogra 
phy  we  thought  right  was  altogether  wrong.  The  desert, 
the  wilderness,  had  us  in  its  grip. 

We  sat,  draggled  and  weary,  at  the  shoulder  of  the  little 
ravine,  haggard  and  worn  by  the  long  strain.  Her  skin  gar 
ments,  again  wet  through,  clung  tight  to  her  figure,  uncom 
fortably.  Now  and  again  I  could  see  a  tremor  running 
through  her  body  from  the  chill.  Yet  as  I  looked  at  her  I 

189 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

could  not  withhold  my  homage  to  her  spirit.  She  was  a 
splendid  creature,  so  my  soul  swore  to  me,  thoroughbred  as 
any  in  all  the  world.  Her  chin  was  high,  not  drawn  down 
in  defeat.  I  caught  sight  of  her  small  ear,  flat  to  the  head, 
pink  with  cold,  but  the  ear  of  a  game  creature.  Her  nose, 
not  aquiline,  not  masculine,  still  was  not  weak.  Her  chin, 
as  I  remember  I  noted  even  then,  was  strong,  but  lean  and 
not  over-laden  with  flesh.  Her  mouth,  not  thin-lipped  and 
cold,  yet  not  too  loose  and  easy,  was  now  plaintive  as  it  was 
sweet  in  its  full,  red  Cupid  bow.  Round  and  soft  and  gentle 
she  seemed,  yet  all  the  lines  of  her  figure,  all  the  features 
of  her  face,  betokened  bone  and  breeding.  The  low-cut 
Indian  shirt  left  her  neck  bare.  I  could  see  the  brick  red 
line  of  the  sunburn  creeping  down;  but  most  I  noted,  since 
ever  it  was  my  delight  to  trace  good  lineage  in  any  creature, 
the  splendid  curve  of  her  neck,  not  long  and  weak,  not  short 
and  animal,  but  round  and  strong — perfect,  I  was  willing  to 
call  that  and  every  other  thing  about  her. 

She  turned  to  me  after  a  time  and  smiled  wanly.  "I  am 
hungry,"  she  said. 

"We  shall  make  a  fire,"  I  answered.  "But  first  I  must 
wait  until  my  coat  dries.  The  lining  is  wet,  and  we  have  no 
tinder.  The  bark  is  wet  on  the  little  trees;  each  spear  of 
grass  is  wet." 

Then  I  bethought  me  of  an  old  expedient  my  father  had 
once  shown  me.  At  the  bandolier  across  my  shoulder  swung 
my  bullet  pouch  and  powder  flask,  in  the  former  also  some 
bits  of  tow  along  with  the  cleaning  worm.  I  made  a  loose 
wad  of  the  tow  kept  thus  dry  in  the  shelter  of  the  pouch,  and 
pushed  this  down  the  rifle  barrel,  after  I  had  with  some 
difficulty  discharged  the  load  already  there.  Then  I  rubbed 

190 


IN   SICKNESS   AND   IN  HEALTH 

a  little  more  powder  into  another  loose  wad  of  tow,  and  fired 
the  rifle  into  this.  As  luck  would  have  it,  some  sparks  still 
smoldered  in  the  tow,  and  thus  I  was  able  once  more  to 
nurse  up  a  tiny  flame.  I  never  knew  before  how  comforting 
a  fire  might  be.  So  now  again  we  ate,  and  once  more,  as 
the  hours  advanced,  we  felt  strength  coming  to  us.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  the  food,  I  was  obliged  to  admit  a  strange  aching  in 
my  head,  and  a  hot  fever  burning  in  my  bones. 

"See  the  poor  horse,"  she  said,  and  pointed  to  our  single 
steed,  humped  up  in  the  wind,  one  hip  high,  his  head  low, 
all  dejection. 

"He  must  eat,"  said  I,  and  so  started  to  loosen  his  hobble. 
Thus  engaged  I  thought  to  push  on  toward  the  top  of  the 
next  ridge  to  see  what  might  be  beyond.  What  I  saw  was 
the  worst  thing  that  could  have  met  my  eyes.  I  sank  down 
almost  in  despair. 

There,  on  a  flat  valley  nearly  a  mile  away  in  its  slow  descent, 
stood  the  peaked  tops  of  more  than  a  score  of  Indian 
tepees.  Horses  were  scattered  all  about.  From  the  tops  of 
the  lodges  little  dribbles  of  smoke  were  coming.  The  wet  of 
the  morning  kept  the  occupants  within,  but  here  and  there 
a  robed  figure  stalked  among  the  horses. 

I  gazed  through  the  fringe  of  grasses  at  the  top  of  the  ridge, 
feeling  that  now  indeed  our  cup  of  danger  well-nigh  was  full. 
For  some  moments  I  lay  examining  the  camp,  seeking  to 
divine  the  intent  of  these  people,  whom  I  supposed  to  be 
Sioux.  The  size  of  the  encampment  disposed  me  to  think 
that  it  was  a  hunting  party  and  not  an  expedition  out  for 
war.  I  saw  meat  scaffolds,  as  I  supposed,  and  strips  of 
meat  hanging  over  ropes  strung  here  and  there;  although  of 
this  I  could  not  be  sure. 

191 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

I  turned  as  I  heard  a  whisper  at  my  shoulder.  "What  is 
it?"  she  asked  me;  and  then  the  next  moment,  gazing  as  I 
did  over  the  ridge,  she  saw.  I  felt  her  cower  close  to  me  in 
her  instant  terror.  "My  God!"  she  murmured,  "what  shall 
we  do?  They  will  find  us;  they  will  kill  us!" 

"Wait,  now,"  said  I.  "They  have  not  yet  seen  us.  They 
may  go  away  in  quite  the  other  direction.  Do  not  be 
alarmed." 

We  lay  there  looking  at  this  unwelcome  sight  for  some 
moments,  but  at  last  I  saw  something  which  pleased  me 
better. 

The  men  among  the  horses  stopped,  looked,  and  began  to 
hurry  about,  began  to  lead  up  their  horses,  to  gesticulate. 
Then,  far  off  upon  the  other  side,  I  saw  a  blanket  waving. 

"It  is  the  buffalo  signal,"  I  said  to  her.  "They  are  going 
to  hunt,  and  their  hunt  will  be  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
us.  That  is  good." 

We  crept  back  from  the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  I  asked  her 
to  bring  me  the  saddle  blanket  while  I  held  the  horse.  This 
I  bound  fast  around  the  horse's  head. 

"Why  do  you  blind  the  poor  fellow?"  she  inquired.  "He 
cannot  eat,  he  will  starve.  Besides,  we  ought  to  be  getting 
away  from  here  as  fast  as  we  can." 

"I  tie  up  his  head  so  that  he  cannot  see,  or  smell,  and  so 
fall  to  neighing  to  the  other  horses,"  I  explained  to  her. 
"As  to  getting  away,  our  trail  would  show  plainly  on  this  wet 
ground.  All  the  trail  we  left  yesterday  has  been  wiped  out; 
so  that  here  is  our  very  safest  place,  if  they  do  not  happen  to 
run  across  the  head  of  this  little  draw.  Besides,  we  can  still 

eat;   and  besides  again "  perhaps  I  staggered  a  little  as 

I  stood. 

192 


IN   SICKNESS   AND   IN  HEALTH 

"You  are  weak!"  she  exclaimed.     "You  are  ill!" 

"I  must  admit,"  said  I,  "that  I  could  probably  not  travel 
far.  If  I  dared  tell  you  to  go  on  alone  and  leave  me,  I 
would  command  you  to  do  so." 

Her  face  was  pale.  "What  is  wrong?"  she  asked.  "Is  it 
a  fever?  Is  it  your  wound  again?" 

"It  is  fever,"  I  answered  thickly.  "My  head  is  bad.  I 
do  not  see  distinctly.  If  you  please,  I  think  I  will  lie  down 
for  a  time." 

I  staggered  blindly  now  as  I  walked.  I  felt  her  arm  under 
mine.  She  led  me  to  our  little  fireside,  knelt  on  the  wet 
ground  beside  me  as  I  sat,  my  head  hanging  dully.  I  re 
member  that  her  hands  were  clasped.  I  recall  the  agony  on 
her  face. 

The  day  grew  warmer  as  the  sun  arose.  The  clouds  hung 
low  and  moved  rapidly  under  the  rising  airs.  Now  and 
again  I  heard  faint  sounds,  muffled,  far  off.  "They  are 
firing,"  I  muttered.  "They  are  among  the  buffalo.  That 
is  good.  Soon  they  will  go  away." 

I  do  not  remember  much  of  what  I  said  after  that,  and 
recall  only  that  my  head  throbbed  heavily,  and  that  I  wanted 
to  lie  down  and  rest.  And  so,  some  time  during  that  morn 
ing,  I  suppose,  I  did  lie  down,  and  once  more  laid  hold  upon 
the  hand  of  Mystery. 

I  do  not  wish  to  speak  of  what  followed  after  that.  For 
me,  a  merciful  ignorance  came;  but  what  that  poor  girl 
must  have  suffered,  hour  after  hour,  night  after  night,  day 
after  day,  alone,  without  shelter,  almost  without  food,  in 
such  agony  of  terror  as  might  have  been  natural  even  had 
her  solitary  protector  been  possessed  of  all  his  faculties — I 
say  I  cannot  dwell  upon  that,  because  it  makes  the  cold 

193 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

sweat  stand  on  my  face  even  now  to  think  of  it.  So  I  will 
say  only  that  one  time  I  awoke.  She  told  me  later  that  she 
did  not  know  whether  it  was  two  or  three  days  we  had  been 
there  thus.  She  told  me  that  now  and  then  she  left  me  and 
crept  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  to  watch  the  Indian  camp.  She 
saw  them  come  in  from  the  chase,  their  horses  loaded  with 
meat.  Then,  as  the  sun  came  out,  they  went  to  drying 
meat,  and  the  squaws  began  to  scrape  the  hides.  As  they 
had  abundant  food  they  did  not  hunt  more  than  that  one  day, 
and  no  one  rode  in  our  direction.  Our  horse  she  kept  con 
cealed  and  blindfolded  until  dark,  when  she  allowed  him  to 
feed.  This  morning  she  had  removed  the  blanket  from  his 
head,  because  now,  as  she  told  me  with  exultation,  the 
Indians  had  broken  camp,  mounted  and  driven  away,  all  of 
them,  far  off  toward  the  west.  She  had  cut  and  dried  the 
remainder  of  our  antelope  meat,  taking  this  hint  from  what 
we  saw  the  Indians  doing,  and  so  most  of  our  remaining 
meat  had  been  saved. 

I  looked  at  her  now,  idly,  dully.  I  saw  that  her  belt  was 
drawn  tighter  about  a  thinner  waist.  Her  face  was  much 
thinner  and  browner,  her  eyes  more  sunken.  The  white 
strip  of  her  lower  neck  was  now  brick  red.  I  dared  not  ask 
her  how  she  had  gotten  through  the  nights,  because  she  had 
used  the  blanket  to  blindfold  the  horse.  She  had  hollowed 
out  a  place  for  my  hips  to  lie  more  easily,  and  pulled  grasses 
for  my  bed.  In  all  ways  thoughtfulness  and  unselfishness 
had  been  hers.  As  I  realized  this,  I  put  my  hands  over  my 
face  and  groaned  aloud.  Then  I  felt  her  hand  on  my 
head. 

"How  did  you  eat?"  I  asked  her.     "You  have  no  fire." 
"Once  I  had  a  fire,"  she  said.     "I  made  it  with  flint  and 

194 


IN   SICKNESS   AND   IN   HEALTH 

steel  as  I  saw  you  do.     See,"  she  added,  and  pointed  to  a 
ring  of  ashes,  where  there  were  bits  of  twigs  and  other  fuel. 

"Now  you  must  eat,"  she  said.  "You  are  like  a  shadow. 
See,  I  have  made  you  broth." 

"Broth?"  said  I.     "How?" 

"In  your  hat,"  she  said.  "My  father  told  me  how  the 
Indians  boil  water  with  hot  stones.  I  tried  it  in  my  own  hat 
first,  but  it  is  gone.  A  hot  stone  burned  it  through."  Then 
I  noticed  that  she  was  bareheaded.  I  lay  still  for  a  time, 
pondering  feebly,  as  best  I  could,  on  the  courage  and  re 
source  of  this  girl,  who  now  no  doubt  had  saved  my  life, 
unworthy  as  it  seemed  to  me.  At  last  I  looked  up  to  her. 

"  After  all,  I  may  get  well,"  I  said.  "  Go  now  to  the  thicket 
at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  and  see  if  there  are  any  little  cotton- 
wood  trees.  Auberry  told  me  that  the  inner  bark  is  bitter. 
It  may  act  like  quinine,  and  break  the  fever." 

So  presently  she  came  back  with  my  knife  and  her  hands 
full  of  soft  green  bark  which  she  had  found.  "It  is  bitter," 
said  she,  "but  if  I  boil  it  it  will  spoil  your  broth."  I  drank 
of  the  crude  preparation  as  best  I  might,  and  ate  feebly  as  I 
might  at  some  of  the  more  tender  meat  thus  softened.  And 
then  we  boiled  the  bitter  bark,  and  I  drank  that  water,  the 
only  medicine  we  might  have.  Alasl  it  was  our  last  use  of 
my  hat  as  a  kettle,  for  now  it,  too,  gave  way. 

"Now,"  she  said  to  me,  "I  must  leave  you  for  a  time. 
I  am  going  over  to  the  Indian  camp  to  see  what  I  can 
find." 

She  put  my  head  in  the  saddle  for  a  pillow,  and  gave  me 
the  remnant  of  her  hat  for  a  shade.  I  saw  her  go  away,  clad 
like  an  Indian  woman,  her  long  braids  down  her  back,  her 
head  bare,  her  face  brown,  her  moccasined  feet  slipping 

195 


THE   WAY   OF   A  MAN 

softly  over  the  grasses,  the  metals  of  her  leggins  tinkling. 
My  eyes  followed  her  as  long  as  she  remained  visible,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  hours  before  she  returned.  I  missed  her. 

She  came  back  laughing  and  joyful.  "  See ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"Many  things!  I  have  found  a  knife,  and  I  have  found  a 
broken  kettle ;  and  here  is  an  awl  made  from  a  bone ;  and  here 
is  something  which  I  think  their  women  use  in  scraping 
hides."  She  showed  me  all  these  things,  last  the  saw-edged 
bone,  or  scraping  hoe  of  the  squaws,  used  for  dressing  hides, 
as  she  had  thought. 

"Now  I  am  a  squaw,"  she  said,  smiling  oddly.  She  stood 
thoughtfully  looking  at  these  things  for  a  time.  "Yes,"  she 
said,  "we  are  savages  now." 

I  looked  at  her,  but  could  see  no  despair  on  her  face.  "I 
do  not  believe  you  are  afraid,"  I  said  to  her.  "You  are  a 
splendid  creature.  You  are  brave." 

She  looked  down  at  me  at  length  as  I  lay.  "Have  courage, 
John  Cowles,"  she  said.  "Get  well  now  soon,  so  that  we 
may  go  and  hunt.  Our  meat  is  nearly  gone." 

"But  you  do  not  despair,"  said  I,  wondering.  She  shook 
her  head. 

"Not  yet.  Are  we  not  as  well  off  as  those?"  she  pointed 
toward  the  old  encampment  of  the  Indians.  A  faint  tinge 
came  to  her  cheeks.  "It  is  strange,"  said  she,  "I  feel  as  if 
the  world  had  absolutely  come  to  an  end,  and  yet " 

"It  is  just  beginning,"  said  I  to  her.  "We  are  alone. 
This  is  the  first  garden  of  the  world.  You  are  the  first 
woman;  I  am  the  first  cave  man,  and  all  the  world  depends 
on  us.  See,"  I  said — perhaps  still  a  trifle  confused  in  my 
mind — "all  the  arts  and  letters  of  the  future,  all  the  paintings, 
all  the  money  and  goods  of  all  the  world;  all  the  peace  and 

196 


IN   SICKNESS   AND   IN  HEALTH 

war,  and  all  the  happiness  and  content  of  the  world  rest  with 
us,  just  us  two.  We  are  the  world,  you  and  I." 

She  sat  thoughtful  and  silent  for  a  time,  a  faint  pink,  as  I 
said,  just  showing  on  her  cheeks. 

"John  Cowles,  of  Virginia,"  she  said  simply,  "now  tell 
me,  how  shall  I  mend  this  broken  kettle?" 


197 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

WITH  ALL  MY   WORLDLY  GOODS  I  THEE  ENDOW 

POOR,  indeed,  in  worldly  goods  must  be  those  to  whom 
the  discarded  refuse  of  an  abandoned  Indian  camp 
seems  wealth.  Yet  such  was  the  case  with  us,  two 
representatives  of  the  higher  civilization,  thus  removed  from 
that  civilization  by  no  more  than  a  few  days'  span.  As  soon 
as  I  was  able  to  stand  we  removed  our  little  encampment  to 
the  ground  lately  occupied  by  the  Indian  village. 

We  must  have  food,  and  I  could  not  yet  hunt.  Here  at 
the  camp  we  found  some  bits  of  dried  meat.  We  found  a 
ragged  and  half-hairless  robe,  discarded  by  some  squaw, 
and  to  us  it  seemed  priceless,  for  now  we  had  a  house  by  day 
and  a  bed  by  night.  A  half-dozen  broken  lodge  poles  seemed 
riches  to  us.  We  hoarded  some  broken  moccasins  which 
had  been  thrown  away.  Like  jackals  we  prowled  around 
the  filth  and  refuse  of  this  savage  encampment — we,  so  lately 
used  to  all  the  comforts  that  civilization  could  give. 

In  the  minds  of  us  both  came  a  thought  new  to  both — a 
desire  for  food.  Never  before  had  we  known  how  urgent  is 
this  desire.  How  few,  indeed,  ever  really  know  what  hunger 
is!  If  our  great  men,  those  who  shape  the  destinies  of  a 
people,  could  know  what  hunger  means,  how  different  would 
be  their  acts!  The  trail  of  the  lodge  poles  of  these  departing 
savages  showed  where  they  had  gone  farther  in  their  own 
ceaseless  pursuit  of  food,  food.  We  also  must  eat.  After 

198 


WITH  ALL  MY  WORLDLY  GOODS 

that  might  begin  all  the  deeds  of  the  world.  The  surplus 
beyond  the  necessary  provender  of  the  hour  is  what  consti 
tutes  the  world's  progress,  its  philosophy,  its  art,  all  its 
stored  material  gains.  We  who  sat  there  under  the  shade 
of  our  ragged  hide,  gaunt,  browned  by  the  sun,  hatless,  ill- 
clad,  animals  freed  from  the  yoke  of  society,  none  the  less 
were  not  free  from  the  yet  more  perpetual  yoke  of  savagery. 

For  myself,  weakened  by  sickness,  such  food  as  we  had 
was  of  little  service.  I  knew  that  I  was  starving,  and  feared 
that  she  was  doing  little  better.  I  looked  at  her  that  morn 
ing,  after  we  had  propped  up  our  little  canopy  of  hide  to 
break  the  sun.  Her  face  was  clean  drawn  now  into  hard 
lines  of  muscle.  Her  limbs  lay  straight  and  clean  before 
her  as  she  sat,  her  hands  lying  in  her  lap  as  she  looked  out 
across  the  plains.  Her  eyes  were  still  brown  and  clear,  her 
figure  still  was  that  of  woman;  she  was  still  sweet  to  look 
upon,  but  her  cheeks  were  growing  hollow.  I  said  to  my 
self  that  she  suffered,  that  she  needed  food.  Upon  us  rested 
the  fate  of  the  earth,  as  it  seemed  to  me.  Unless  presently  I 
could  arise  and  kill  meat  for  her,  then  must  the  world  roll 
void  through  the  ether,  unpeopled  ever  more. 

It  was  at  that  time  useless  for  us  to  think  of  making  our 
way  to  any  settlements  or  any  human  aid.  The  immediate 
burden  of  life  was  first  to  be  supported.  And  yet  we  were 
unable  to  go  out  in  search  of  food.  I  know  not  what  thoughts 
came  to  her  mind  as  we  sat  looking  out  on  the  pictures  of 
the  mirage  which  the  sun  was  painting  on  the  desert  land 
scape.  But,  finally,  as  we  gazed,  there  seemed,  among  these 
weird  images,  one  colossal  tragic  shape  which  moved,  ad 
vanced,  changed  definitely.  Now  it  stood  in  giant  stature, 
and  now  dwindled,  but  always  it  came  nearer.  At  last  it 

199 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

darkened  and  denned  and  so  disappeared  beyond  a  blue 
ridge  not  half  a  mile  away  from  us.  We  realized  at  last  that 
it  was  a  solitary  buffalo  bull,  no  doubt  coming  down  to 
water  at  a  little  coulee  just  beyond  us.  I  turned  to  look  at 
her,  and  saw  her  eyes  growing  fierce.  She  reached  back  for 
my  rifle,  and  I  arose. 

"Come,"  I  said,  and  so  we  started.  We  dared  not  use 
the  horse  in  stalking  our  game. 

I  could  stand,  I  could  walk  a  short  way,  but  the  weight  of 
this  great  rifle,  sixteen  pounds  or  more,  which  I  had  never 
felt  before,  now  seemed  to  crush  me  down.  I  saw  that  I 
was  starved,  that  the  sap  was  gone  from  my  muscles.  I 
could  stagger  but  a  few  yards  before  I  was  obliged  to  stop 
and  put  down  the  rifle.  She  came  and  put  her  arm  about 
me  firmly,  her  face  frowning  and  eager.  But  a  tall  man  can 
ill  be  aided  by  a  woman  of  her  stature. 

"Can  you  go?"  she  said. 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  cannot;  but  I  must  and  I  shall."  I  put 
away  her  arm  from  me,  but  in  turn  she  caught  up  the  rifle. 
Even  for  this  I  was  still  too  proud.  "No,"  said  I,  "I  have 
always  carried  my  own  weapons  thus  far." 

"Come,  then,"  she  said,  "this  way";  and  so  caught  the 
muzzle  of  the  heavy  barrel  and  walked  on,  leaving  me  the 
stock  to  support  for  my  share  of  the  weight.  Thus  we  car 
ried  the  great  rifle  between  us,  and  so  stumbled  on,  until  at 
length  the  sun  grew  too  warm  for  me,  and  I  dropped,  over 
come  with  fatigue.  Patiently  she  waited  for  me,  and  so 
we  two,  partners,  mates,  a  man  and  a  woman,  primitive,  the 
first,  went  on  little  by  little. 

I  knew  that  the  bull  would  in  all  likelihood  stop  near  the 
rivulet,  for  his  progress  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  very 

200 


WITH  ALL  MY  WORLDLY  GOODS 

old  or  else  wounded.  Finally  I  could  see  his  huge  black 
hump  standing  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  from  the 
ridge  where  I  last  paused.  I  motioned  to  her,  and  she  crept 
to  my  side,  like  some  desert  creature.  We  were  hunting 
animals  now,  the  two  sexes  of  Man — nothing  more. 

"Go,"  said  I,  motioning  toward  the  rifle.  "I  am  too 
weak.  I  might  miss.  I  can  get  no  farther." 

She  caught  up  the  rifle  barrel  at  its  balancing  point, 
looked  to  the  lock  as  a  man  might  have  done,  and  leaned 
forward,  eager  as  any  man  for  the  chase.  There  was  no 
fear  in  her  eye. 

"Where  shall  I  shoot  it?"  she  whispered  to  me,  as  though 
it  might  overhear  her. 

"At  the  life,  at  the  bare  spot  where  his  shoulder  rubs, 
very  low  down,"  I  said  to  her.  "And  when  you  shoot, 
drop  and  lie  still.  He  will  soon  lie  down." 

Lithe,  brown,  sinuous,  she  crept  rapidly  away,  and  pres 
ently  was  hid  where  the  grass  grew  taller  in  the  flat  beyond. 
The  bull  moved  forward  a  little  also,  and  I  lost  sight  of  both 
for  what  seemed  to  me  an  unconscionable  time.  She  told 
me  later  that  she  crept  close  to  the  water  hole  and  waited 
there  for  the  bull  to  come,  but  that  he  stood  back  and  stared 
ahead  stupidly  and  would  not  move.  She  said  she  trembled 
when  at  last  he  approached,  so  savage  was  his  look.  Even  a 
man  might  be  smitten  with  terror  at  the  fierce  aspect  of  one 
of  these  animals. 

But  at  last  I  heard  the  bitter  crack  of  the  rifle  and,  raising 
my  head,  I  saw  her  spring  up  and  then  drop  down  again. 
Then,  staggering  a  short  way  up  the  opposite  slope,  I  saw 
the  slow  bulk  of  the  great  black  bull.  He  turned  and  looked 
back,  his  head  low,  his  eyes  straight  ahead.  Then  slowly 

20 1 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

he  kneeled  down,  and  so  died,  with  his  forefeet  doubled 
under  him. 

She  came  running  back  to  me,  full  of  savage  joy  at  her 
success,  and  put  her  arm  under  my  shoulder  and  told  me 
to  come.  Slowly,  fast  as  I  could,  I  went  with  her  to  our 
prey. 

We  butchered  our  buffalo  as  Auberry  had  showed  me, 
from  the  backbone  down,  as  he  sat  dead  on  his  forearms, 
splitting  the  skin  along  the  spine,  and  laying  it  out  for  the 
meat  to  rest  upon.  Again  I  made  a  fire  by  shooting  a  tow 
wad  into  such  tinder  as  we  could  arrange  from  my  coat 
lining,  having  dried  this  almost  into  flame  by  a  burning- 
glass  I  made  out  of  a  watch  crystal  filled  with  water,  not  in 
the  least  a  weak  sort  of  lens.  She  ran  for  fuel,  and  for 
water,  and  now  we  cooked  and  ate,  the  fresh  meat  seeming 
excellent  to  me.  Once  more  now  we  moved  our  camp,  the 
girl  returning  for  the  horse  and  our  scanty  belongings. 

Always  now  we  ate,  haggling  out  the  hump  ribs,  the  tongue, 
the  rich  back  fat;  so  almost  immediately  we  began  to  gain 
in  strength.  All  the  next  day  we  worked  as  we  could  at 
drying  the  meat,  and  taking  the  things  we  needed  from  the 
carcass.  We  got  loose  one  horn,  drying  one  side  of  the  head 
in  the  fire.  I  saved  carefully  all  the  sinews  of  the  back, 
knowing  we  might  need  them.  Then  between  us  we  scraped 
at  the  two  halves  of  the  hide,  drying  it  in  the  sun,  fleshing  it 
with  our  little  Indian  hoe,  and  presently  rubbing  into  it 
brains  from  the  head  of  the  carcass,  as  the  hide  grew  drier 
in  the  sun.  We  were  not  yet  skilled  in  tanning  as  the  Indian 
women  are,  but  we  saw  that  now  we  would  have  a  house 
and  a  bed  apiece,  and  food,  food.  We  broiled  the  ribs  at 
our  fire,  boiled  the  broken  leg  bones  in  our  little  kettle.  We 

202 


WITH  ALL  MY   WORLDLY   GOODS 

made  fillets  of  hide  to  shade  our  eyes,  she  thus  binding  back 
the  long  braids  of  her  hair.  We  rested  and  were  comforted. 
Each  hour,  it  seemed  to  me,  she  rounded  and  became  more 
beautiful,  supple,  young,  strong — there,  in  the  beginning  of 
the  world.  We  were  rich  in  these,  our  belongings,  which 
we  shared. 


203 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

TILL    DEATH    DO    PART 

HITHERTO,  while  I  was  weak,  exhausted,  and 
unable  to  reason  beyond  the  vague  factors  of 
anxiety  and  dread,  she  had  cared  for  me  simply, 
as  though  she  were  a  young  boy  and  I  an  older  man.  The 
small  details  of  our  daily  life  she  had  assumed,  because  she 
still  was  the  stronger.  Without  plot  or  plan,  and  simply 
through  the  stern  command  of  necessity,  our  interests  had 
been  identical,  our  plans  covered  us  both  as  one.  At  night, 
for  the  sake  of  warmth,  we  had  slept  closely,  side  by  side, 
both  too  weary  and  worn  out  to  reason  regarding  that  or 
any  other  thing.  Once,  in  the  night,  I  know  I  felt  her  arm 
across  my  face,  upon  my  head  her  hand — she  still  sleeping, 
and  millions  of  miles  away  among  the  stars.  I  would  not 
have  waked  her. 

But  now,  behold  the  strange  story  of  man's  advance  in 
what  he  calls  civilization.  Behold  what  property  means  in 
regard  to  what  we  call  laws.  We  were  rich  now.  We  had 
two  pieces  of  robe  instead  of  one.  We  might  be  two  crea 
tures  now,  a  man  and  a  woman,  a  wall  between,  instead  of 
two  suffering,  perishing  animals,  with  but  one  common 
need,  that  of  self-preservation.  There  were  two  houses  now, 
two  beds;  because  this  might  be  and  still  allow  us  to  survive. 
Our  table  was  common,  and  that  was  all. 

204 


TILL  DEATH   DO   PART 

I  grew  stronger  rapidly.  In  spite  of  my  wish,  my  eyes 
rested  upon  her;  and  thus  I  noticed  that  she  had  changed. 
My  little  boy  was  no  longer  a  little  boy,  but  some  strange 
creature — I  knew  not  what — like  to  nothing  I -had  ever  seen 
or  known;  like  no  woman  of  the  towns,  and  no  savage  of 
the  plains,  but  better  than  both  and  different  from  either, 
inscrutable,  sweet,  yes,  and  very  sad.  Often  I  saw  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

During  that  first  night  when  we  slept  apart,  the  wolves 
came  very  close  to  our  meat  heaps  and  set  up  their  usual 
roaring  chorus.  The  terror  of  this  she  could  not  endure, 
and  so  she  came  creeping  with  her  half  robe  to  my  side 
where  I  lay.  That  was  necessary.  Later  that  night  when 
she  awoke  under  the  shelter  of  her  half  hide,  she  found 
me  sitting  awake,  near  the  opening.  But  she  would  not 
have  me  put  over  her  my  portion  of  the  robe.  She  made  of 
our  party  two  individuals,  and  that  I  must  understand.  I 
must  understand  now  that  society  was  beginning  again,  and 
law,  and  custom.  My  playfellow  was  gone.  I  liked  scarce 
so  well  this  new  creature,  with  the  face  of  a  Sphinx,  the 
form  of  a  woman,  the  eyes  of  something  hurt,  that  wept — 
that  wept,  because  of  these  results  of  my  own  awkwardness 
and  misfortunes. 

I  say  that  I  was  growing  stronger.  At  night,  in  front  of 
her  poor  shelter,  I  sat  and  thought,  and  looked  out  at  the 
stars.  The  stars  said  to  me  that  life  and  desire  were  one, 
that  the  world  must  go  on,  that  all  the  future  of  the  world 
rested  with  us  two.  But  at  this  I  rebelled.  "Ah,  prurient 
stars!"  I  cried,  "and  evil  of  mind!  What  matters  it  that 
you  suffer  or  that  I  suffer?  Let  the  world  end,  yes,  let  the 
world  end  before  this  strange  new  companion,  gained  in 

205 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

want,  and  poverty,  and  suffering,  and  now  lost  by  reason  of 
comforts  and  health,  shall  shed  one  tear  of  suffering  1" 

But  sometimes,  worn  out  by  watching,  I,  too,  must  lie 
down.  Again,  in  her  sleep,  I  felt  her  arm  rest  upon  my 
neck.  Now,  God  give  me  what  He  listeth,  but  may  not  this 
thing  come  to  me  again. 

For  now,  day  by  day,  night  by  night,  against  all  my  will 
and  wish,  against  all  my  mind  and  resolution,  I  knew  that 
I  was  loving  this  new  being  with  all  my  heart  and  all  my 
soul,  forsaking  all  others,  and  that  this  would  be  until  death 
should  us  part.  I  knew  that  neither  here  nor  elsewhere  in 
the  world  was  anything  which  could  make  me  whole  of  this 
— no  principles  of  duty  or  honor,  no  wish  nor  inclination 
nor  resolve! 

I  had  eaten.     I  loved.     I  saw  what  life  is. 

I  saw  the  great  deceit  of  Nature.  I  saw  her  plan,  her 
wish,  her  merciless,  pitiless  desire;  and  seeing  this,  I  smiled 
slowly  in  the  dark  at  the  mockery  of  what  we  call  civiliza 
tion,  its  fuss  and  flurry,  its  pretense,  its  misery.  Indeed,  we 
are  small,  but  life  is  not  small.  We  are  small,  but  love  is 
very  large  and  strong,  born  as  it  is  of  the  great  necessity  that 
man  shall  not  forget  the  world,  that  woman  shall  not  rob  the 
race. 

For  myself,  I  accepted  my  station  in  this  plan,  saying 
nothing  beyond  my  own  soul.  None  the  less,  I  said  there 
to  my  own  soul,  that  this  must  be  now,  till  death  should 
come  to  part  us  twain. 


206 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE   GARDEN 

SOON  now  we  would  be  able  to  travel;  but  whither, 
and  for  what  purpose?  I  began  to  shrink  from  the 
thought  of  change.  This  wild  world  was  enough 
for  me.  So  long  as  we  might  eat  and  sleep  thus,  and  so  long 
as  I  might  not  lose  sight  of  her,  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  not 
anywhere  gain  in  happiness  and  content.  Elsewhere  I  must 
lose  both. 

None  the  less  we  must  travel.  We  had  been  absent  now 
from  civilization  some  three  weeks,  and  must  have  been 
given  up  long  since.  Our  party  must  have  passed  far  to  the 
westward,  and  by  this  time  our  story  was  known  at  Laramie 
and  elsewhere.  Parties  were  no  doubt  in  search  of  us  at 
that  time.  But  where  should  these  search  in  that  wilder 
ness  of  the  unknown  Plains.  How  should  it  be  known  that 
we  were  almost  within  touch  of  the  great  highway  of  the 
West,  now  again  thronging  with  wagon  trains?  By  force  of 
these  strange  circumstances  which  I  have  related  we  were 
utterly  gone,  blotted  out;  our  old  world  no  longer  existed  for 
us,  nor  we  for  it. 

As  I  argued  to  myself  again  and  again,  the  laws  and  cus 
toms  of  that  forgotten  world  no  longer  belonged  to  us.  We 
must  build  laws  again,  laws  for  the  good  of  the  greatest 
number.  I  can  promise,  who  have  been  in  place  to  know, 
that  in  one  month's  time  civilization  shall  utterly  fade  away 

207 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

from  the  human  heart,  that  a  new  state  of  life  shall  within 
that  space  enforce  itself,  so  close  lies  the  savage  in  us  always 
to  the  skin.  This  vast  scheme  of  organized  selfishness,  which 
is  called  civilization,  shall  within  three  weeks  be  forgot  and 
found  useless,  be  rescinded  as  a  contract  between  remaining 
units  of  society.  This  vast  fabric  of  waste  and  ruin  known 
as  wealth  shall  be  swept  away  at  a  breath  within  one  month. 
Then  shall  endure  only  the  great  things  of  life.  Above  those 
shall  stand  two  things — a  woman  and  a  man.  Without  these 
society  is  not,  these  two,  a  woman  and  a  man. 

So  I  would  sit  at  night,  nodding  under  the  stars,  and 
vaguely  dreaming  of  these  matters,  and  things  came  to  me 
sweetly,  things  unknown  in  our  ignorance  and  evil  of  mind, 
as  we  live  in  what  we  call  civilization.  They  would  become 
clear  underneath  the  stars;  and  then  the  dawn  would  come, 
and  she  would  come  and  sit  by  me,  looking  out  over  the  Plains 
at  the  shimmering  pictures.  "  What  do  you  see?"  she  would 
ask  of  me. 

"I  see  the  ruins  of  that  dome  known  as  the  capitol  of  our 
nation,"  I  said  to  her,  "where  they  make  laws.  See,  it  is  in 
ruins,  and  what  I  see  beyond  is  better." 

"Then  what  more  do  you  see,"  she  would  ask. 

"I  see  the  ruins  of  tall  buildings  of  brick  and  iron,  prisons 
where  souls  are  racked,  and  deeds  of  evil  are  done,  and  iron 
sunk  into  human  hearts,  and  vice  and  crime,  and  oppression 
and  wrong  of  life  and  love  are  wrought.  These  are  in  ruins, 
and  what  I  see  beyond  is  better."  Humoring  me,  she  would 
ask  that  I  would  tell  her  further  what  I  saw. 

"I  see  the  ruins  of  tall  spires,  where  the  truth  was  offered 
by  bold  assertion.  I  see  the  ruins  of  religion,  corrupt  be 
cause  done  for  gain. 

208 


THE   GARDEN 

"I  see  houses  also,  much  crowded,  where  much  traffic  and 
bartering  and  evil  was  done,  much  sale  of  flesh  and  blood 
and  love  and  happiness,  ruin,  unhappiness.  And  what  I  see 
now  is  far  better  than  all  that." 

"And  then — "  she  whispered  faintly,  her  hand  upon  my 
sleeve,  and  looking  out  with  me  over  the  Plains,  where  the 
mirage  was  wavering. 

"I  see  there,"  I  said,  and  pointed  it  out  to  her,  "only  a 
Garden,  a  vast,  sweet  Garden.  And  there  arises  a  Tree — 
one  Tree." 

This  was  my  world.  But  she,  looking  out  over  the  Plains, 
still  saw  with  the  eye  of  yesterday.  Upon  woman  the  artifi 
cial  imprint  of  heredity  is  set  more  deeply  than  with  man. 
The  commands  of  society  are  wrought  into  her  soul. 


209 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THEY  TWAIN 

EVEN  as  we  were  putting  together  our  small  belong 
ings  for  the  resumption  of  our  journey,  I  looked  up 
and  saw  what  I  took  to  be  a  wolf,  stalking  along  in 
the  grass  near  the  edge  of  our  encampment.     I  would  have 
shot  it,  but  reflected  that  I  must  not  waste  a  shot  on  wolves. 
Advancing  closer  toward  it,  as  something  about  its  motions 
attracted  me,  I  saw  it  was  a  dog.     It  would  not  allow  me  to 
approach,  but  as  Ellen  came  it  lay  down  in  the  grass,  and 
she  got  close  to  it. 

"It  is  sick,"  she  said,  "or  hurt,"  and  she  tossed  it  a 
bone. 

"Quick,"  I  called  out  to  her,  "get  it!  Tame  it.  It  is 
worth  more  than  riches  to  us,  that  dog." 

So  she,  coaxing  it,  at  last  got  her  hands  upon  its  head, 
though  it  would  not  wag  its  tail  or  make  any  sign  of  friend 
ship.  It  was  a  wolfish  mongrel  Indian  dog.  One  side  of 
its  head  was  cut  or  crushed,  and  it  seemed  that  possibly  some 
squaw  had  struck  it,  with  intent  perhaps  to  put  it  into  the 
kettle,  but  with  aim  so  bad  that  the  victim  had  escaped. 

To  savage  man,  a  dog  is  of  nearly  as  much  use  as  a  horse. 
Now  we  had  a  horse  and  a  dog,  and  food,  and  weapons,  and 
shelter.  It  was  time  we  should  depart,  and  we  now  were 
well  equipped  to  travel.  But  whither? 

210 


THEY    TWAIN 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  I,  "that  our  safest  plan  is  to  keep 
away  from  the  Platte,  where  the  Indians  are  more  apt  to  be. 
If  we  keep  west  until  we  reach  the  mountains,  we  certainly 
will  be  above  Laramie,  and  then  if  we  follow  south  along  the 
mountains,  we  must  strike  the  Platte  again,  and  so  find 
Laramie,  if  we  do  not  meet  any  one  before  that  time."  It 
may  be  seen  how  vague  was  my  geography  in  regard  to  a 
region  then  little  known  to  any. 

"My  father  will  have  out  the  whole  Army  looking  for  us," 
said  Ellen  Meriwether  to  me.  "We  may  be  found  any  day." 

But  for  many  a  day  we  were  not  found.  We  traveled 
westward  day  after  day,  she  upon  the  horse,  I  walking  with 
the  dog.  We  had  a  rude  travois,  which  we  forced  our  horse 
to  draw,  and  our  little  belongings  we  carried  in  a  leathern 
bag,  slung  between  two  lodge  poles.  The  dog  we  did  not 
yet  load,  although  the  rubbed  hair  on  his  shoulders  showed 
that  he  was  used  to  harness. 

At  times  on  these  high  rolling  plains  we  saw  the  buffalo, 
and  when  our  dried  meat  ran  low  I  paused  for  food,  not  dar 
ing  to  risk  waste  of  our  scanty  ammunition  at  such  hard 
game  as  antelope.  Once  I  lay  at  a  path  near  a  water  hole  in 
the  pocket  of  a  half-dried  stream,  and  killed  two  buffalo 
cows.  Here  was  abundant  work  for  more  than  two  days, 
cutting,  drying,  scraping,  feasting.  Life  began  to  run  keen 
in  our  veins,  in  spite  of  all.  I  heard  her  sing,  that  day,  saw 
her  smile.  Now  our  worldly  goods  were  increasing,  so  I 
cut  down  two  lodge  poles  and  made  a  little  travois  for  the 
dog.  We  had  hides  enough  now  for  a  small  tent,  needing 
only  sufficient  poles. 

"Soon,"  said  she  to  me,  "we  will  be  at  Laramie." 

"Pray  God,"  said  I  to  myself,  "that  we  never  may  see 

211 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Laramie!"  I  have  said  that  I  would  set  down  the  truth. 
And  this  is  the  truth;  I  was  becoming  a  savage.  I  truly 
wanted  nothing  better.  I  think  this  might  happen  to  many 
a  man,  at  least  of  that  day. 

We  forded  several  streams,  one  a  large  one,  which  I  now 
think  must  have  been  the  North  Platte;  but  no  river  ran  as 
we  fancied  the  Platte  must  run.  So  we  kept  on,  until  we 
came  one  day  to  a  spot  whence  we  saw  something  low  and 
unmoving  and  purple,  far  off  in  the  northwest.  This  we 
studied,  and  so  at  length  saw  that  it  was  the  mountains.  At 
last  our  journeying  would  change,  at  least,  perhaps  terminate 
ere  long.  A  few  more  days  would  bring  us  within  touch  of 
this  distant  range,  which,  as  I  suppose  now,  might  possibly 
have  been  a  spur  of  what  then  were  still  called  the  Black 
Hills,  a  name  which  applied  to  several  ranges  far  to  the  west 
and  south  of  the  mountains  now  so  called.  Or  perhaps 
these  were  peaks  of  the  mountains  later  called  the  Laramie 
Range. 

Then  came  a  thing  hard  for  us  to  bear.  Our  horse,  hob 
bled  as  usual  for  the  night,  and,  moreover,  picketed  on  a 
long  rope  I  had  made  from  buffalo  hides,  managed  some 
time  in  the  night  to  break  his  hobbles  and  in  some  way  to 
pull  loose  the  picket  pin.  When  we  saw  that  he  was  gone 
we  looked  at  each  other  blankly. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked  me  in  horror.  For  the 
first  time  I  saw  her  sit  down  in  despair.  "We  are  lost! 
What  shall  we  do?"  she  wailed. 

I  trailed  the  missing  horse  for  many  miles,  but  could  only 
tell  he  was  going  steadily,  lined  out  for  some  distant  point. 
I  dared  not  pursue  him  farther  and  leave  her  behind.  An 
hour  after  noon  I  returned  and  sullenly  threw  myself  on  the 

212 


THEY    TWAIN 

ground  beside  her  at  our  little  bivouac.  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  her  being  reduced  to  foot  travel  over  all  these  cruel 
miles.  Yet,  indeed,  it  now  must  come  to  that. 

"We  have  the  dog,"  said  I  at  length.  "We  can  carry  a 
robe  and  a  little  meat,  and  walk  slowly.  I  can  carry  a  hun 
dred  pound  pack  if  need  be,  and  the  dog  can  take  twenty- 
five " 

"And  I  can  carry  something,"  she  said,  rising  with  her  old 
courage.  "  It  is  my  part."  I  made  her  a  pack  of  ten  pounds, 
and  soon  seeing  that  it  was  too  heavy,  I  took  it  from  her  and 
threw  it  on  my  own. 

"At  least  I  shall  carry  the  belt,"  she  said.  And  so  she  took 
my  belt,  with  its  flask  and  bullet  pouch,  the  latter  now  all 
too  scantily  filled. 

Thus,  sore  at  heart,  and  somewhat  weary,  we  struggled 
on  through  that  afternoon,  and  sank  down  beside  a  little 
water  hole.  And  that  night,  when  I  reached  to  her  for  my 
belt  that  we  might  again  make  our  fire,  she  went  pale  and 
cried  aloud  that  she  had  lost  it,  and  that  now  indeed  we 
must  die! 

I  could  hardly  comfort  her  by  telling  her  that  on  the  mor 
row  I  would  certainly  find  it.  I  knew  that  in  case  I  did  not 
our  plight  indeed  was  serious.  She  wept  that  night,  wept 
like  a  child,  starting  and  moaning  often  in  her  sleep.  That 
night,  for  the  first  time,  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  tried  to 
comfort  her.  I,  being  now  a  savage,  prayed  to  the  Great 
Spirit,  the  Mystery,  that  my  own  blood  might  not  be  as  water, 
that  my  heart  might  be  strong — the  old  savage  prayers  of 
primitive  man  brought  face  to  face  with  nature. 

When  morning  came  I  told  her  I  must  go  back  on  the 
trail.  "See,  now,  what  this  dog  has  done  for  us,"  I  said. 

213 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"The  scratches  on  the  ground  of  his  little  travois  poles  will 
make  a  trail  easy  to  be  followed.  I  must  take  him  with  me, 
and  run  back  the  trail.  For  you,  stay  here  by  the  water, 
and  no  matter  what  your  fears,  do  not  move  from  here  in  any 
case,  even  if  I  should  not  be  back  by  night." 

"But  what  if  you  should  not  come  back!"  she  said,  her 
terror  showing  in  her  eyes. 

"But  I  will  come  back,"  I  replied.  "I  will  never  leave 
you.  I  would  rise  from  my  grave  to  come  back  to  you. 
But  the  time  has  not  yet  come  to  lie  down  and  die.  Be 
strong.  We  shall  yet  be  safe." 

So  I  was  obliged  to  turn  and  leave  her  sitting  alone  there, 
the  gray  sweep  of  the  merciless  Plains  all  about  her.  Another 
woman  would  have  gone  mad. 

But  it  was  as  I  said.  This  dog  was  our  savior.  Without 
his  nose  I  could  not  have  traced  out  the  little  travois  trail; 
but  he,  seeing  what  was  needed,  and  finding  me  nosing  along 
and  doubling  back  and  seeking  on  the  hard  ground,  seemed 
to  know  what  was  required,  or  perhaps  himself  thought  to 
go  back  to  some  old  camp  for  food.  So  presently  he  trotted 
along,  his  ears  up,  his  nose  straight  ahead;  and  I,  a  savage, 
depended  upon  a  creature  still  a  little  lower  in  the  order  of 
life,  and  that  creature  proved  a  faithful  servant. 

We  went  on  at  a  swinging  walk,  or  trot,  or  lope,  as  the 
ground  said,  and  ate  up  the  distance  at  twice  the  speed  we 
had  used  the  day  before.  In  a  couple  of  hours  I  was  close 
to  where  she  had  taken  the  belt,  and  so  at  last  I  saw  the  dog 
drop  his  nose  and  sniff.  There  were  the  missing  riches, 
priceless  beyond  gold — the  little  leaden  balls,  the  powder, 
dry  in  its  horn,  the  little  rolls  of  tow,  the  knife  swung  at  the 
girdle!  I  knelt  down  there  on  the  sand,  I,  John  Cowles, 

214 


THEY    TWAIN 

once  civilized  and  now  heathen,  and  I  raised  my  frayed  and 
ragged  hands  toward  the  Mystery,  and  begged  that  I  might 
be  forever  free  of  the  great  crime  of  thanklessness.  Then, 
laughing  at  the  dog,  and  loping  on  tireless  as  when  I  was  a 
boy,  I  ran  as  though  sickness  and  weakness  had  never  been 
mine,  and  presently  came  back  to  the  place  where  I  had 
left  her. 

She  saw  me  coming.  She  ran  out  to  meet  me,  holding 
out  her  arms.  ...  I  say  she  came,  holding  out  her 
arms  to  me. 

"Sit  down  here  by  my  side,"  I  commanded  her.  "I  must 
talk  to  you.  I  will— I  will." 

"Do  not,"  she  implored  of  me,  seeing  what  was  in  my 
mind.  "Ah,  what  shall  I  do!  You  are  not  fair!" 

But  I  took  her  hands  in  mine.  "I  can  endure  it  no 
longer,"  I  said.  "I  will  not  endure  it." 

She  looked  at  me  with  her  eyes  wide — looked  me  full  in 
the  face  with  such  a  gaze  as  I  have  never  seen  on  any  woman's 
face. 

"I  love  you,"  I  said  to  her.  "I  have  never  loved  any  one 
else.  I  can  never  love  any  one  again  but  you."  I  say  that 
I,  John  Cowles,  had  at  that  moment  utterly  forgotten  all  of 
life  and  all  of  the  world  except  this,  then  and  there.  "I 
love  you!"  I  said,  over  and  over  again  to  her. 

She  pushed  away  my  arm.  "They  are  all  the  same,"  she 
said,  as  though  to  herself. 

"Yes,  all  the  same,"  I  said.  "There  is  no  man  who  would 
not  love  you,  here  or  anywhere." 

"To  how  many  have  you  said  that?"  she  asked  me, 
frowning,  as  though  absorbed,  studious,  intent  on  some 
problem. 

215 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"To  some,"  I  said  to  her,  honestly.  "But  it  was  never 
thus." 

She  curled  her  lip,  scorning  the  truth  which  she  had  asked, 
now  that  she  had  it.  "And  if  any  other  woman  were  here 
it  would  be  the  same.  It  is  because  I  am  here,  because  we 
are  alone,  because  I  am  a  woman — ah,  that  is  neither  wise 
nor  brave  nor  good  of  you!" 

"That  is  not  true!  Were  it  any  other  woman,  yes,  what 
you  say  might  be  true  in  one  way.  But  I  love  you  not  be 
cause  you  are  a  woman.  It  is  because  you  are  Ellen.  You 
would  be  the  only  woman  in  the  world,  no  matter  where  we 
were  nor  how  many  were  about  us.  Though  I  could  choose 
from  all  the  world,  it  would  be  the  same!" 

She  listened  with  her  eyes  far  away,  thinking,  thinking. 
"It  is  the  old  story,"  she  sighed. 

"Yes,  the  old  story,"  I  said.  "It  is  the  same  story,  the 
old  one.  There  are  the  witnesses,  the  hills,  the  sky." 

"You  seem  to  have  thought  of  such  things,"  she  said  to 
me,  slowly.  "I  have  not  thought.  I  have  simply  lived  along, 
enjoying  life,  not  thinking.  Do  we  love  because  we  are  but 
creatures?  I  cannot  be  loved  so — I  will  not  be!  I  will  not 
submit  that  what  I  have  sometimes  dreamed  shall  be  so 
narrow  as  this.  John  Cowles,  a  woman  must  be  loved  for 
herself,  not  for  her  sex,  by  some  one  who  is  a  man,  but  who 
is  beside " 

"  Oh,  I  have  said  all  that.  I  loved  you  the  first  time  I  saw 
you — the  first  time,  there  at  the  dance." 

"And  forgot,  and  cared  for  another  girl  the  next  day." 
She  argued  that  all  over  again. 

"That  other  girl  was  you,"  I  once  more  reiterated. 

"And  again  you  forgot  me." 

216 


THEY    TWAIN 

"And  again  what  made  me  forget  you  was  yourself! 
Each  time  you  were  that  other  girl,  that  other  woman.  Each 
time  I  have  seen  you  you  have  been  different,  and  each  time 
I  have  loved  you  over  again.  Each  day  I  see  you  now  you 
are  different,  Ellen,  and  each  day  I  love  you  more.  How 
many  times  shall  I  solve  this  same  problem,  and  come  to  the 
same  answer.  I  tell  you,  the  thing  is  ended  and  done  for 
me." 

"It  is  easy  to  think  so  here,  with  only  the  hills  and  skies 
to  see  and  hear." 

"No,  it  would  be  the  same,"  I  said.  "It  is  not  because 
of  that." 

"It  is  not  because  I  am  in  your  power?"  she  said.  She 
turned  and  faced  me,  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  looking  me 
full  in  the  eye.  The  act  a  brave  one. 

"Because  I  am  in  your  power,  John  Cowles?"  she  asked. 
"Because  by  accident  you  have  learned  that  I  am  a  comely 
woman,  as  you  are  a  strong  man,  normal,  because  I  am  fit  to 
love,  not  ill  to  look  at?  Because  a  cruel  accident  has  put  me 
where  my  name  is  jeopardized  forever — in  a  situation  out  of 
which  I  can  never,  never  come  clean  again — is  that  why? 
Do  you  figure  that  I  am  a  woman  because  you  are  a  man? 
Is  that  why?  Is  it  because  you  know  I  am  human,  and 
young,  and  fit  for  love?  Ah,  I  know  that  as  well  as  you. 
But  I  am  in  your  hands — I  am  in  your  power.  That  is  why 
I  say,  John  Cowles,  that  you  must  try  to  think,  that  you  must 
do  nothing  which  shall  make  me  hate  you  or  make  you  hate 
yourself." 

"I  thought  you  missed  me  when  I  was  gone,"  I  mur 
mured  faintly. 

"I  did  miss  you,"  she  said.  "The  world  seemed  ended 

217 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

for  me.  I  needed  you,  I  wanted  you "  I  turned  to 
ward  her  swiftly.  "Wanted  me?" 

"I  was  glad  to  see  you  come  back.  While  you  were  gone 
I  thought.  Yes,  you  have  been  brave  and  you  have  been 
kind,  and  you  have  been  strong.  Now  I  am  only  asking 
you  still  to  be  brave,  and  kind,  and  strong." 

"But  do  you  love  me,  will  you  love  me — can  you " 

"Because  we  are  here,"  she  said,  "I  will  not  answer. 
What  is  right,  John  Cowles,  that  we  should  do. " 

Woman  is  strongest  when  armored  in  her  own  weakness. 
My  hands  fell  to  the  ground  beside  me.  The  heats  vanished 
from  my  blood.  I  shuddered.  I  could  not  smile  without 
my  mouth  going  crooked,  I  fear.  But  at  last  I  smiled  as 
best  I  could,  and  I  said  to  her,  "Ellen!  Ellen!"  That  was 
all  I  could  find  to  say. 


218 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  BETROTHAL 

STRENGTH  came  to  us  as  we  had  need,  and  gradually 
even  the  weaker  of  us  two  became  able  to  complete 
the  day's  journey  without  the  exhaustion  it  at  first 
had  cost  her.  Summer  was  now  upon  us,  and  the  heat  at 
midday  was  intense,  although  the  nights,  as  usual,  were 
cold.  Deprived  of  all  pack  animals,  except  our  dog,  we  were 
perforce  reduced  to  the  lightest  of  gear,  and  discomfort  was 
our  continual  lot.  Food,  however,  we  could  still  secure, 
abundant  meat,  and  sometimes  the  roots  of  plants  which  I 
dug  up  and  tested,  though  I  scarce  knew  what  they  were. 

We  moved  steadily  on  toward  the  west  and  northwest,  but 
although  we  crossed  many  old  Indian  trails,  we  saw  no  more 
of  these  travelers  of  the  Plains.  At  that  time  the  country 
which  we  were  traversing  had  no  white  population,  although 
the  valley  of  the  Platte  had  long  been  part  of  a  dusty  trans 
continental  highway.  It  was  on  this  highway  that  the  sav 
ages  were  that  summer  hanging,  and  even  had  we  been 
certain  of  its  exact  location,  I  should  have  feared  to  enter  the 
Platte  valley,  lest  we  should  meet  red  men  rather  than  white. 

At  times  we  lost  the  buffalo  for  days,  more  especially  as  we 
approached  the  foothills  of  the  mountains,  and  although 
antelope  became  more  numerous  there,  they  were  far  more 
difficult  to  kill,  and  apt  to  cost  us  more  of  our  precious  ammu 
nition.  I  planned  to  myself  that  if  we  did  not  presently 

219 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

escape  I  would  see  what  might  be  done  toward  making  a 
bow  and  arrows  for  use  on  small  game,  which  we  could  not 
afford  to  purchase  at  the  cost  of  precious  powder  and  ball. 

I  was  glad,  therefore,  when  we  saw  the  first  timber  of  the 
foothills;  still  gladder,  for  many  reasons,  when  I  found  that 
we  were  entering  the  winding  course  of  a  flattened,  broken 
stream,  which  presently  ran  back  into  a  shingly  valley, 
hedged  in  by  ranks  of  noble  mountains,  snow  white  on  their 
peaks.  Here  life  should  prove  easier  to  us  for  the  time,  the 
country  offering  abundant  shelter  and  fuel,  perhaps  game, 
and  certainly  change  from  the  monotony  of  the  Plains. 

Here,  I  said  to  myself,  our  westward  journey  must  end. 
It  would  be  bootless  to  pass  beyond  Laramie  into  the  moun 
tains,  and  our  next  course,  I  thought,  must  be  toward  the 
south.  I  did  not  know  that  we  were  then  perhaps  a  hundred 
miles  or  more  northwest  of  Laramie,  deep  in  a  mountain 
range  far  north  of  the  transcontinental  trail.  For  the  time, 
however,  it  seemed  wise  to  tarry  here  for  rest  and  recruiting. 
I  threw  down  the  pack.  "Now,"  said  I  to  her,  "we  rest." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  turning  her  face  to  the  south,  "Lara 
mie  is  that  way  now.  If  we  stop  here  my  father  will  come 
and  find  us.  But  then,  how  could  he  find  us,  little  as  we 
are,  in  this  big  country?  Our  trail  would  not  be  different 
from  that  of  Indians,  even  if  they  found  it  fresh  enough  to 
read.  Suppose  they  never  found  us!" 

"Then,"  said  I,  "we  should  have  to  live  here,  forever  and 
ever." 

She  looked  at  me  curiously.     "Could  we?"  she  asked. 

"Until  I  was  too  old  to  hunt,  you  too  weak  to  sew  the  robes 
or  cook  the  food." 

"What  would  happen  then?" 

220 


THE  BETROTHAL 

"We  would  die,"  said  I.  "The  world  would  end,  would 
have  to  begin  all  over  again  and  wait  twice  ten  million 
years  until  man  again  was  evolved  from  the  amoeba,  the 
reptile,  the  ape.  When  we  died,  this  dog  here  would  be 
the  only  hope  of  the  world." 

She  looked  at  the  eternal  hills  in  their  snow,  and  made  no 
answer.  Presently  we  turned  to  our  duties  about  the  camp. 

It  was  understood  that  we  should  stay  here  for  at  least 
two  days,  to  mend  our  clothing  and  prepare  food  for  the 
southern  journey.  I  have  said  I  was  not  happy  at  the 
thought  of  turning  toward  that  world  which  I  had  missed  so 
little.  Could  the  wild  freedom  of  this  life  have  worked  a 
similar  spell  on  her?  The  next  day  she  came  to  me  as  I 
sat  by  our  meager  fireside.  Without  leading  of  mine  she 
began  a  manner  of  speech  until  now  foreign  to  her. 

"What  is  marriage,  John  Cowles?"  she  asked  of  me, 
abruptly,  with  no  preface. 

"It  is  the  Plan,"  I  answered,  apathetically.  She  pondered 
for  a  time. 

"Are  we,  then,  only  creatures,  puppets,  toys?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  to  her.  "A  man  is  a  toy.  Love  was  born 
before  man  was  created,  before  animals  or  plants.  Atom 
ran  to  atom,  seeking.  It  was  love."  She  pondered  yet  a 
while. 

"And  what  is  it,  then,  John  Cowles,  that  women  call 
'wrong'?" 

"Very  often  what  is  right,"  I  said  to  her,  apathetically. 
"When  two  love  the  crime  is  that  they  shall  not  wed.  When 
they  do  not  love,  the  crime  is  when  they  do  wed." 

"But  without  marriage,"  she  hesitated,  "the  home " 

"It  is  the  old  question,"  I  said.  "The  home  is  built  on 

221 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

woman's  virtue;  but  virtue  is  not  the  same  where  there  is  no 
home,  no  property,  where  there  is  no  society — it  is  an  arti 
ficial  thing,  born  of  compromise,  and  grown  stronger  by 
custom  of  the  ages  of  property-owning  man." 

I  saw  a  horror  come  across  her  eyes. 

"What  do  you  say  to  me,  John  Cowles?  That  what  a 
woman  prizes  is  not  right,  is  not  good?  No,  that  I  shall 
not  think!"  She  drew  apart  from  me. 

"Because  you  think  just  as  you  do,  I  love  you,"  I  said. 

"Yet  you  say  so  many  things.  I  have  taken  life  as  it 
came,  just  as  other  girls  do,  not  thinking.  It  is  not  nice,  it 
is  not  clean,  that  girls  should  study  over  these  things.  That 
is  not  right." 

"No,  that  is  not  right,"  said  I,  dully. 

"Then  tell  me,  what  is  marriage — that  one  thing  a  girl 
dreams  of  all  her  life.  Is  it  of  the  church?" 

"It  is  not  of  the  church,"  I  said. 

"Then  it  is  the  law." 

"It  is  not  the  law,"  I  said. 

"Then  what  is  it?"  she  asked.  "John  Cowles,  tell  me, 
what  makes  a  wedding  between  two  who  really  and  truly 
love.  Can  marriage  be  of  but  two?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"But  there  must  be  witnesses — there  must  be  ceremony — 
else  there  is  no  marriage,"  she  went  on.  Her  woman's  brain 
clung  to  the  safe,  sane  groove  which  alone  can  guide  progress 
and  civilization  and  society — that  great,  cruel,  kind,  impera 
tive  compromise  of  marriage,  without  which  all  the  advance 
ment  of  the  world  would  be  as  naught.  I  loved  her  for  it. 
But  for  me,  I  say  I  had  gone  savage.  I  was  at  the  beginning 
of  all  this,  whereas  it  remained  with  her  as  she  had  left  it. 

222 


THE   BETROTHAL 

"  Witnesses?  "  I  said.  "  Look  at  those ! "  I  pointed  to  the 
mountains.  "Marriages,  many  of  them,  have  been  made 
with  no  better  witnesses  than  those." 

My  heart  stopped  when  I  saw  how  far  she  had  jumped 
to  her  next  speech. 

"Then  we  two  are  all  the  people  left  in  the  world,  John 
Cowles?  When  I  am  old,  will  you  cast  me  off?  When 
another  woman  comes  into  this  valley,  when  I  am  bent  and 
old,  and  cannot  see,  will  you  cast  me  off,  and,  being  stronger 
than  I  am,  will  you  go  and  leave  me?" 

I  could  not  speak  at  first.  "We  have  talked  too  much," 
I  said  to  her  presently.  But  now  it  was  she  who  would  not 
desist. 

"You  see,  with  a  woman  it  is  for  better,  for  worse — but 
with  a  man " 

"With  a  Saxon  man,"  I  said,  "it  is  also  for  better,  for 
worse.  It  is  one  woman." 

She  sat  and  thought  for  a  long  time.  "Suppose,"  she 
said,  "that  no  one  ever  came." 

Now  with  swift  remorse  I  could  see  that  in  her  own  courage 
she  was  feeling  her  way,  haltingly,  slowly,  toward  solution  of 
problems  which  most  women  take  ready  solved  from  others. 
But,  as  I  thank  God,  a  filmy  veil,  softening,  refining,  always 
lay  between  her  and  reality.  In  her  intentness  she  laid  hold 
upon  my  arm,  her  two  hands  clasping. 

"Suppose  two  were  here,  a  man  and  a  woman,  and  he 
swore  before  those  eternal  witnesses  that  he  would  not  go 
away  any  time  until  she  was  dead  and  laid  away  up  in  the 
trees,  to  dry  away  and  blow  off  into  the  air,  and  go  back " 

"Into  the  flowers,"  I  added,  choking. 

"Yes,  into  the  trees  and  the  flowers — so  that  when  she  was 

223 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

dead  and  he  was  dead,  and  they  were  both  gone  back  into 
the  flowers,  they  would  still  know  each  other  for  ever  and 
ever  and  never  be  ashamed — would  that  be  a  marriage 
before  God,  John  Cowles?" 

What  had  I  brought  to  this  girl's  creed  of  life,  heretofore 
always  so  sweet  and  usual?  I  did  not  answer.  She  shook 
at  my  arm.  "Tell  me!"  she  said.  But  I  would  not  tell  her. 

"Suppose  they  did  not  come,"  she  said  once  more.  "It 
is  true,  they  may  not  find  us.  Suppose  we  two  were  to  live 
here  alone,  all  this  winter — just  as  we  are  now — none  of  my 
people  or  yours  near  us.  Could  we  go  on?" 

"God!     Woman,  have  you  no  mercy!" 

She  sat  and  pondered  for  yet  a  time,  as  though  seriously 
weighing  some  question  in  her  mind. 

"But  you  have  taught  me  to  think,  John  Cowles.  It  is 
you  who  have  begun  my  thinking,  so  now  I  must  think.  I 
know  we  cannot  tell  what  may  happen.  I  ask  you,  John 
Cowles,  if  we  were  brought  to  that  state  which  we  both 
know  might  happen — if  we  were  here  all  alone  and  no  one 
came,  and  if  you  loved  me — ah,  then  would  you  promise, 
forever  and  forever,  to  love  me  till  death  did  us  part — till 
I  was  gone  back  into  the  flowers?  I  remember  what  they 
say  at  weddings.  They  cling  one  to  the  other,  forsaking  all 
others,  till  death  do  them  part.  Could  you  promise  me — 
in  that  way?  Could  you  promise  me,  clean  and  solemn? 
Because,  I  would  not  promise  you  unless  it  was  solemn,  and 
clean,  and  unless  it  was  forever." 

Strange,  indeed,  these  few  days  in  the  desert,  which  had  so 
drawn  apart  the  veil  of  things  and  left  us  both  ready  to  see 
so  far.  She  had  not  seen  so  far  as  I,  but,  womanlike,  had 
reasoned  more  quickly. 

224 


THE  BETROTHAL 

As  for  me,  it  seemed  that  I  saw  into  her  heart.  I  dropped 
my  hands  from  my  eyes  and  looked  at  her  strangely,  my  own 
brain  in  a  whirl,  my  logic  gone.  All  I  knew  was  that  then 
or  elsewhere,  whether  or  not  rescue  ever  came  for  us,  whether 
we  died  now  or  later,  there  or  anywhere  in  all  the  world,  I 
would,  indeed,  love  her  and  her  only,  forsaking  all  others 
until,  indeed,  we  were  gone  back  into  the  sky  and  flowers, 
until  we  whispered  again  in  the  trees,  one  unto  the  other! 
Marriage  or  no  marriage,  together  or  apart,  in  sickness  or  in 
health — so  there  came  to  me  the  stern  conviction — love 
could  knock  no  more  at  my  heart,  where  once  she  had  stood 
in  her  courage  and  her  cleanness.  Reverence,  I  say,  was 
now  the  one  thing  left  in  my  heart.  Still  we  sat,  and  watched 
the  sun  shine  on  the  distant  white-topped  peaks.  I  turned  to 
her  slowly  at  length. 

" Ellen,"  I  said,  "do  you  indeed  love  me?" 

"How  can  I  help  it,  John  Cowles,"  she  answered  bravely. 
My  heart  stopped  short,  then  raced  on,  bursting  all  control. 
It  was  long  before  I  could  be  calm  as  she. 

"You  have  helped  it  very  long,"  I  said  at  last,  quietly. 
"But  now  I  must  know — would  you  love  me  anywhere,  in 
any  circumstances,  in  spite  of  all?  I  love  you  because  you 
are  You,  not  because  you  are  here.  I  must  be  loved  in  the 
same  way,  always." 

She  looked  at  me  now  silently,  and  I  leaned  and  kissed 
her  full  on  the  mouth. 


225 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

THE   COVENANT 

SHE  did  not  rebel  or  draw  away,  but  there  was  that  on 
her  face,  I  say,  which  left  me  only  reverent.  Her 
hand  fell  into  mine.  We  sat  there,  plighted,  plighted 
in  our  rags  and  misery  and  want  and  solitude.  Though  I 
should  live  twice  the  allotted  span  of  man,  never  should  I 
forget  what  came  into  my  soul  that  hour. 

After  a  time  I  turned  from  her,  and  from  the  hills,  and 
from  the  sky,  and  looked  about  us  at  the  poor  belongings 
with  which  we  were  to  begin  our  world.  All  at  once  my  eye 
fell  upon  one  of  our  lighter  robes,  now  fairly  white  with 
much  working.  I  drew  it  toward  me,  and  with  her  still 
leaning  against  my  shoulder,  I  took  up  a  charred  stick,  and 
so,  laboriously,  I  wrote  upon  the  surface  of  the  hide,  these 
words  of  our  covenant: 

"/,  John  Cowles,  take  thee,  Ellen  Meriwether,  to  be  my 
lawful,  wedded  wife,  in  sickness,  and  in  health,  jor  better  or 
}or  worse,  till  death  do  us  part." 

And  I  signed  it;  and  made  a  seal  after  my  name. 

"  Write,"  said  I  to  her.     "  Write  as  I  have  written." 

She  took  a  fresh  brand,  blackened  at  the  end,  and  in 
lesser  characters  wrote  slowly,  letter  by  letter: 

"/,  Ellen  Meriwether,  take  thee,  John  Cowles,  to  be  my 
lawjul,  wedded  husband — "  She  paused,  but  I  would  not 
urge  her,  and  it  was  moments  before  she  resumed — "in 

226 


THE   COVENANT 

sickness  and  in  health,  jor  better  or  for  worse — "  Again  she 
paused,  thinking,  thinking — and  so  concluded,  "till  death 
do  us  party 

"It  means,"  she  said  to  me,  simply  as  a  child,  "until  we 
have  both  gone  back  into  the  flowers  and  the  trees." 

I  took  her  hand  in  mine.  Mayhap  book  and  bell  and 
organ  peal  and  vestured  choir  and  high  ceremony  of  the 
church  may  be  more  solemn;  but  I,  who  speak  the  truth 
from  this  very  knowledge,  think  it  could  not  be. 

"When  you  have  signed  that,  Ellen,"  I  said  to  her  at  last, 
"we  two  are  man  and  wife,  now  and  forever,  here  and  any 
place  in  the  world.  That  is  a  binding  ceremony,  and  it 
endows  you  with  your  share  of  all  my  property,  small  or 
large  as  that  may  be.  It  is  a  legal  wedding,  and  it  holds  us 
with  all  the  powers  the  law  can  have.  It  is  a  contract." 

" Do  not  talk  to  me  of  contracts,"  she  said.  "I  am  think 
ing  of  nothing  but  our — wedding." 

Still  mystical,  still  enigma,  still  woman,  she  would  have  it 
that  the  stars,  the  mountains — the  witnesses — and  not  our 
selves,  made  the  wedding.  I  left  it  so,  sure  of  nothing  so 
much  as  that,  whatever  her  way  of  thought  might  be,  it  was 
better  than  my  own. 

"But  if  I  do  not  sign  this?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"Then  we  are  not  married." 

She  sighed  and  laid  down  the  pen.  "Then  I  shall  not 
sign  it — yet,"  she  said. 

I  caught  up  her  hand  as  though  I  would  write  for  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  it  shall  be  only  our  engagement,  our  troth 
between  us.  This  will  be  our  way.  I  have  not  yet  been 
sufficiently  wooed,  John  Cowles!" 

I  looked  into  her  eyes  and  it  seemed  to  me  I  saw  there 

227 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

something  of  the  same  light  I  had  seen  when  she  was  the 
masked  coquette  of  the  Army  ball — the  yearning,  the  melan 
choly,  the  mysticism,  the  challenge,  the  invitation  and  the 
doubting — ah,  who  shall  say  what  there  is  in  a  woman's 
eye!  But  I  saw  also  what  had  been  in  her  eyes  each  time  I 
had  seen  her  since  that  hour.  I  left  it  so,  knowing  that  her 
way  would  be  best. 

"When  we  have  escaped,"  she  went  on,  "if  ever  we  do 
escape,  then  this  will  still  be  our  troth,  will  it  not,  John 
Cowles?" 

"Yes,  and  our  marriage,  when  you  have  signed,  now  or 
any  other  time." 

"But  if  you  had  ever  signed  words  like  these  with  any 
other  woman,  then  it  would  not  be  our  marriage  nor  our 
troth,  would  it,  John  Cowles?" 

"No,"  I  said.  And  then  I  felt  my  face  grow  ashy  cold 
and  pale  in  one  sudden  breathl 

"But  why  do  you  look  so  sagl?"  she  asked  of  me, suddenly. 
"Is  it  not  well  to  wait?" 

"Yes,  it  is  well  to  wait,"  I  said.  She  was  so  absorbed  that 
she  did  not  look  at  me  closely  at  that  instant. 

Again  she  took  up  the  charred  stick  in  her  little  hand,  and 
hesitated.  "See,"  she  said,  "I  shall  sign  one  letter  of  my 
name  each  week,  until  all  my  name  is  written!  Till  that 
last  letter  we  shall  be  engaged.  After  the  last  letter,  when  I 
have  signed  it  of  my  own  free  will,  and  clean,  and  solemn- 
clean  and  solemn,  John  Cowles — then  we  will  be — Oh, 
take  me  home — take  me  to  my  father,  John  Cowles!  This 
is  a  hard  place  for  a  girl  to  be." 

Suddenly  she  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands,  sobbing. 

She  hid  her  head  on  my  breast,  sore  distressed  now.  She 

228 


THE   COVENANT 

was  glad  that  she  might  now  be  more  free,  needing  some 
manner  of  friend;  but  she  was  still — what?  Still  woman! 
Poor  Saxon  I  must  have  been  had  I  not  sworn  to  love  her 
fiercely  and  singly  all  my  life.  But  yet 

I  looked  at  the  robe,  now  fallen  loose  upon  the  ground, 
and  saw  that  she  had  affixed  one  letter  of  her  name  and 
stopped.  She  smiled  wanly.  "Your  name  would  be  shorter 
to  sign  a  little  at  a  time,"  she  said;  "but  a  girl  must  have 
time.  She  must  wait.  And  see,"  she  said,  "I  have  no 
ring.  A  girl  always  has  a  ring." 

This  lack  I  could  not  solve,  for  I  had  none. 

"Take  mine,"  she  said,  removing  the  ring  with  the  rose 
seal.  "Put  it  on  the  other  finger — the — the  right  one." 

I  did  so;   and  I  kissed  her.     But  yet 

She  was  weary  and  strained  now.  A  pathetic  droop  came 
to  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  The  palm  of  her  little  hand 
turned  up  loosely,  as  though  she  had  been  tired  and  now 
was  resting.  "We  must  wait,"  she  said,  as  though  to  herself. 

But  what  of  me  that  night?  When  I  had  taken  my  own 
house  and  bed  beyond  a  little  thicket,  that  she  might  be  alone, 
that  night  I  found  myself  breathing  hard  in  terror  and  dread, 
gazing  up  at  the  stars  in  agony,  beating  my  hands  on  the 
ground  at  the  thought  of  the  ruin  I  had  wrought,  the  crime 
that  I  had  done  in  gaining  this  I  had  sought. 

I  had  written  covenants  before!  I  have  said  that  I  would 
tell  simply  the  truth  in  these  pages,  and  this  is  the  truth,  the 
only  extenuation  I  may  claim.  The  strength  and  sweetness 
of  all  this  strange  new  life  with  her  had  utterly  wiped  out  my 
past,  had  put  away,  as  though  forever,  the  world  I  once  had 
known.  Until  the  moment  Ellen  Meriwether  began  the 
signing  of  her  name,  I  swear  I  had  forgotten  that  ever  in  the 

229 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

world  was  another  by  name  of  Grace  Sheraton!  I  may  not 
be  believed — I  ought  not  to  be  believed;  but  this  is  the  truth, 
and  the  truth  by  what  measure  my  love  for  Ellen  Meriwether 
was  bright  and  fixed,  as  much  as  my  promise  to  the  other 
had  been  ill-advised  and  wrong. 

A- forsworn  man,  I  lay  there,  thinking  of  her,  sweet,  simple, 
serious  and  trusting,  who  had  promised  to  love  me,  an 
utterly  unworthy  man,  until  we  two  should  go  back  into  the 
flowers. 

Far  rather  had  I  been  beneath  the  sod  that  moment; 
for  I  knew,  since  I  loved  Ellen  Meriwether,  she  must  not 
complete  the  signing  oj  her  name  upon  the  scroll  oj  our 
covenant ! 


230 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

THE    FLAMING    SWORD 

THE  question  of  food  ever  arose  for  settlement,  and 
early  the  next  morning  I  set  out  upon  a  short 
exploring  expedition  through  our  new  country, 
to  learn  what  I  might  of  its  resources.  There  were  trout  in 
our  little  mountain  stream,  and  although  we  had  no  hooks 
or  lines  I  managed  to  take  a  few  of  these  in  my  hands,  chas 
ing  them  under  the  stones.  Also  I  found  many  berries  now 
beginning  to  ripen,  and  as  the  forest  growth  offered  us  new 
supplies,  I  gathered  certain  barks,  thinking  that  we  might 
make  some  sort  of  drink,  medicinal  if  not  pleasant.  Tracks 
of  deer  were  abundant;  I  saw  a  few  antelope,  and  supposed 
that  possibly  these  bolder  slopes  might  hold  mountain  sheep. 
None  of  these  smaller  animals  was  so  useful  to  us  as  the 
buffalo,  for  each  would  cost  as  much  expenditure  of  precious 
ammunition,  and  yield  less  return  in  bulk.  I  shook  the 
bullet  pouch  at  my  belt,  and  found  it  light.  We  had  barely 
two  dozen  bullets  left;  and  few  hunters  would  promise 
themselves  over  a  dozen  head  of  big  game  for  twice  as  many 
shots. 

I  cast  about  me  in  search  of  red  cedar  that  I  might  make  a 
bow.  I  searched  the  willow  thicket  for  arrow  shafts,  and 
prowled  among  little  flints  and  pointed  stones  on  the  shores 
of  our  stream,  seeking  arrow  points.  It  finally  appeared  to 
me  that  we  might  rest  here  for  a  time  and  be  fairly  safe  to 

231 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

make  a  living  in  some  way.  Then,  as  I  was  obliged  to  ad 
mit,  we  would  need  to  hurry  on  to  the  southward. 

But  again  fate  had  its  way  with  us,  setting  aside  all  plans. 
When  I  returned  to  our  encampment,  instead  of  seeing 
Ellen  come  out  to  meet  me  as  I  expected,  I  found  her  lying 
in  the  shade  of  the  little  tepee. 

"You  are  hurt!"  I  cried.     "What  has  happened?" 

"  My  foot,"  said  she,  "  I  think  it  is  broken ! "  She  was  un 
able  to  stand. 

As  she  could,  catching  her  breath,  she  told  me  how  this 
accident  had  happened.  Walking  along  the  stony  creek 
bank,  she  had  slipped,  and  her  moccasined  foot,  caught  in 
the  narrow  crack  between  two  rocks,  had  been  held  fast  as 
she  fell  forward.  It  pained  her  now  almost  unbearably. 
Tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

So  now  it  was  my  term  to  be  surgeon.  Tenderly  as  I 
might,  I  examined  the  foot,  now  badly  swollen  and  rapidly 
becoming  discolored.  In  spite  of  her  protest — although  I 
know  it  hurt  me  more  than  herself — I  flexed  the  joints  and 
found  the  ankle  at  least  safe.  Alas!  a  little  grating  in  the 
smaller  bones,  just  below  the  instep,  told  me  of  a  fracture. 

" Ellen,"  said  I  to  her,  "the  foot  is  broken  here — two 
bones,  I  think,  are  gone." 

She  sank  back  upon  her  robe  with  an  exclamation  as  much 
of  horror  as  pain. 

"What  shall  we  do!"  she  murmured.  "I  shall  be  crip 
pled!  I  cannot  walk — we  shall  perish!" 

"No,"  I  said  to  her,  "we  shall  mend  it.  In  time  you  will 
not  know  it  has  happened."  Thus  we  gave  courage  to  each 
other. 

All  that  morning  I  poured  water  from  a  little  height  upon 

232 


THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

the  bared  foot,  so  that  presently  the  inflammation  and  the 
pain  lessened.  Then  I  set  out  to  secure  flat  splints  and  some 
soft  bark,  and  so  presently  splintered  and  bound  the  foot, 
skillfully  as  I  knew  how;  and  this  must  have  brought  the 
broken  bones  in  good  juxtaposition,  for  at  least  I  know  that 
eventually  nature  was  kind  enough  to  heal  this  hurt  and 
leave  no  trace  of  it. 

Now,  when  she  was  thus  helpless  and  suffering,  needing 
all  her  strength,  how  could  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  her 
that  secret  which  it  was  my  duty  to  tell?  How  could  I  in 
flict  upon  her  a  still  more  poignant  suffering  than  this 
physical  one?  Each  morning  I  said  to  myself,  "  To-day,  if 
she  is  better,  I  will  tell  her  of  Grace  Sheraton;  she  must 
know."  But  each  time  I  saw  her  face  I  could  not  tell  her. 

Each  day  she  placed  a  clean  white  pebble  in  a  little  pile 
at  her  side.  Presently  there  were  seven. 

"John  Cowles,"  she  said  to  me  that  morning,  "bring  me 
our  writing,  and  bring  me  my  pen.  To-day  I  must  sign 
another  letter."  And,  smiling,  she  did  so,  looking  up  into 
my  face  with  love  showing  on  her  own.  Had  the  charcoal 
been  living  flame,  and  had  she  written  on  my  bare  heart,  she 
could  not  have  hurt  me  more. 

Of  course,  all  the  simple  duties  of  our  life  now  devolved 
upon  myself.  I  must  hunt,  and  keep  the  camp,  and  cook, 
and  bring  the  fuel;  so  that  much  of  the  time  I  was  by  neces 
sity  away  from  her.  Feverishly  I  explored  all  our  little  valley 
and  exulted  that  here  nature  was  so  kind  to  us.  I  trapped 
hares  in  little  runways.  I  made  me  a  bow  and  some  arrows, 
and  very  often  I  killed  stupid  grouse  with  these  or  even  with 
stones  or  sticks,  as  they  sat  in  the  trees;  and  in  bark  baskets 
that  I  made  I  brought  home  many  berries,  now  beginning 

233 


THE  WAY  OF  A   MAN 

to  ripen  fully.  Roots  and  bulbs  as  I  found  them  I  experi 
mented  with,  though  not  with  much  success.  Occasionally 
I  found  fungi  which  made  food.  Flowers  also  I  brought  to 
her,  flowers  of  the  early  autumn,  because  now  the  snows 
were  beginning  to  come  down  lower  on  the  mountains.  In 
two  months  winter  would  be  upon  us.  In  one  month  we 
would  have  snow  in  the  valley. 

The  little  pile  of  white  stones  at  her  side  again  grew, 
slowly,  slowly.  Letter  by  letter  her  name  grew  invisible 
form  on  the  scroll  of  our  covenant — her  name,  already 
written,  and  more  deeply,  on  my  heart.  On  the  fifth  week 
she  called  once  more  for  her  charcoal  pen,  and  signed  the 
last  letter  of  her  Christian  name! 

"See,  there,"  she  said,  "it  is  all  my  girl  name,  E-1-l-e-n." 
I  looked  at  it,  her  hand  in  mine. 

"' Ellen!'"  I  murmured.  "It  is  signature  enough,  be 
cause  you  are  the  only  Ellen  in  the  world."  But  she  put 
away  my  hand  gently  and  said,  "Wait." 

She  asked  me  now  to  get  her  some  sort  of  cut  branch  for  a 
crutch,  saying  she  was  going  to  walk.  And  walk  she  did, 
though  resting  her  foot  very  little  on  the  ground.  After 
that,  daily  she  went  farther  and  farther,  watched  me  as  I 
guddled  for  trout  in  the  stream,  aided  me  as  I  picked  berries 
in  the  thickets,  helped  me  with  the  deer  I  brought  into 
camp. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said,  "and  you  hunt 
well.  You  work.  You  are  a  man,  John  Cowles.  I  love 
you."  . 

But  hearing  words  so  sweet  as  these  to  me,  still  I  did  not 
tell  her  what  secret  was  in  my  soul.  Each  day  I  said  to 
myself  that  presently  she  would  be  strong  enough  to  bear  it, 

234 


THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

and  that  then  I  would  tell  her.  Each  day  that  other  world 
seemed  vaguer  and  farther  away.  But  each  day  passed 
and  I  could  not  speak.  Each  day  it  seemed  less  worth  while 
to  speak.  Now  I  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  losing  her. 
I  say  that  I  could  not.  Let  none  judge  me  too  harshly  who 
have  not  known  the  full  measure  of  this  world  and  that. 

There  was  much  sign  of  bears  in  our  thickets,  and  I  warned 
her  not  to  go  out  alone  after  berries  where  these  long-footed 
beasts  now  fed  regularly.  Sometimes  we  went  there  together, 
with  our  vessels  of  bark,  and  filled  them  slowly,  as  she  hob 
bled  along.  Our  little  dog  was  now  always  with  us,  having 
become  far  more  tamed  and  docile  with  us  than  is  ever  the 
case  of  an  Indian  dog  in  savagery.  One  day  we  wandered 
in  a  dense  berry  thicket,  out  of  which  rose  here  and  there 
chokecherry  trees,  and  we  began  to  gather  some  of  these 
sour  fruits  for  use  in  the  pemmican  which  we  planned  to 
manufacture.  All  at  once  we  came  to  a  spot  where  the 
cherry  trees  were  torn  down,  pulled  over,  ripped  up  by 
the  roots.  The  torn  earth  was  very  fresh,  and  I  knew  that 
the  bear  that  had  done  the  work  could  not  be  far  away. 

All  at  once  our  dog  began  to  growl  and  erect  his  hair, 
sniffing  not  at  the  foot  scent,  but  looking  directly  into  the 
thicket  just  ahead.  .He  began  then  to  bark,  and  as  he  did 
so  there  rose,  with  a  sullen  sort  of  grunt  and  a  champing  of 
jaws  like  a  great  hog,  a  vast  yellow-gray  object,  whose  head 
topped  the  bushes  that  grew  densely  all  about.  The  girl  at 
my  side  uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and  turned  to  run  as  best  she 
might,  but  she  fell,  and  lay  there  cowering. 

The  grizzly  stood  looking  at  me  vindictively  with  little  eyes, 
its  ears  back,  its  jaws  working,  its  paws  swinging  loosely  at 
its  side,  the  claws  white  at  the  lower  end,  as  though  newly 

235 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

sharpened  for  slaughtering.  I  saw  then  that  it  was  angered 
by  the  sight  of  the  dog,  and  would  not  leave  us.  Each  mo 
ment  I  expected  to  hear  it  crash  through  the  bush  in  its 
charge.  Once  down  in  the  brush,  there  would  be  small 
chance  of  delivering  a  fatal  shot;  whereas  now,  as  it  swung 
its  broad  head  slightly  to  one  side,  the  best  possible  oppor 
tunity  for  killing  it  presented  itself  immediately.  Without 
hesitation  I  swung  up  the  heavy  barrel,  and  drew  the  small 
silver  bead  directly  on  the  base  of  the  ear,  where  the  side 
bones  of  a  bear's  head  are  flatter  and  thinner,  directly  along 
side  the  brain.  The  vicious  crack  of  the  rifle  sounded  loud 
there  in  the  thicket;  but  there  came  no  answer  in  response 
to  it  save  a  crashing  and  slipping  and  a  breaking  down  of 
the  bushes  as  the  vast  carcass  fell  at  full  length.  The  little 
ball  had  done  its  work  and  found  the  brain. 

I  knew  the  bear  was  dead,  but  for  a  time  did  not  venture 
closely.  I  looked  about  and  saw  the  girl  slowly  rising  on  her 
elbow,  her  face  uncovered  now,  but  white  in  terror.  I  mo 
tioned  for  her  to  lie  still,  and  having  reloaded,  I  pushed 
quietly  through  the  undergrowth.  I  saw  a  vast  gray,  griz 
zled  heap  lying  there,  shapeless,  motionless.  Then  I  shouted 
aloud  and  went  back  and  picked  her  up  and  carried  her 
through  the  broken  thicket,  and  placed  her  on  the  dead  body 
of  the  grizzly,  seating  myself  at  her  side. 

We  were  two  savages,  successful  now  in  the  chase — suc 
cessful,  indeed,  in  winning  the  capital  prize  of  all  savages, 
for  few  Indians  will  attack  the  grizzly  if  it  can  be  avoided. 
She  laid  her  hand  wonderingly  upon  the  barrel  of  the  rifle, 
looking  at  it  curiously,  that  it  had  been  so  deadly  as  to  slay 
a  creature  so  vast  as  this.  Then  she  leaned  contentedly 
against  my  side,  and  so  we  sat  there  for  a  time.  "John 

236 


THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

Cowles,"  she  said,  "you  are  brave.  You  are  very  much  a 
man.  I  am  not  afraid  when  you  are  with  me."  I  put  my 
arm  about  her.  The  world  seemed  wild  and  fair  and  sweet 
to  me.  Life,  savage,  stern,  swept  through  all  my  veins. 

The  skinning  of  the  bear  was  a  task  of  some  moment,  and 
as  we  did  this  we  exulted  that  we  would  now  have  so  fine  a 
robe.  The  coarse  meat  we  could  not  use,  but  the  fat  I  took 
off  in  flakes  and  strips,  and  hung  upon  the  bushes  around  us 
for  later  carrying  into  camp.  In  this  work  she  assisted  me, 
hobbling  about  as  best  she  might. 

We  were  busy  at  this,  both  of  us  greasy  and  bloody  to  our 
elbows,  when  all  at  once  we  stopped  and  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence.  We  had  heard  a  sound.  To  me  it  sounded 
like  a  rifle  shot.  We  listened.  It  came  again,  with  others. 
There  was  a  volley  of  several  shots,  sounds  certain  beyond 
any  manner  of  question. 

My  heart  stopped.  She  looked  at  me,  some  strange 
thought  written  upon  her  face.  It  was  not  joy,  nor  exulta 
tion,  nor  relief.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  startled.  There 
was  no  smile  on  her  face.  These  things  I  noted.  I  caught 
her  bloody  hand  in  my  bloody  one,  and  for  an  instant  I  be 
lieved  we  both  meditated  flight  deeper  into  the  wilderness. 
Yet  I  reasoned  that  since  these  shots  were  fired  on  our  trail, 
we  must  be  in  all  likelihood  found  in  any  case,  even  were 
these  chance  hunters  coming  into  our  valley,  and  not  a  party 
searching  for  us. 

"It  may  not  be  any  one  we  know,"  I  said.  "It  may  be 
Indians." 

"No,"  said  she,  "it  is  my  father.  They  have  found  us. 
We  must  go!  John" — she  turned  toward  me  and  put  her 
hands  on  my  breast — "John!"  I  saw  terror,  and  regret, 

237 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

and  resolve  look  out  of  her  eyes,  but  not  joy  at  this  deliver 
ance.  No,  it  was  not  joy  that  shone  in  her  eyes.  None  the 
less,  the  ancient  yoke  of  society  being  offered,  we  bowed  our 
necks  again,  fools  and  slaves,  surrendering  freedom,  joy, 
content,  as  though  that  were  our  duty. 


238 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE  LOSS  OF  PARADISE 

SILENTLY  we  made  our  way  toward  the  edge  of  the 
thicket  where  it  faced  upon  the  open  valley.  All 
about  me  I  could  hear  the  tinkling  and  crashing  of 
fairy  crystal  walls,  the  ruins  of  that  vision  house  I  had 
builded  in  my  soul.  At  the  edge  of  the  thicket  we  crouched 
low,  waiting  and  looking  out  over  the  valley,  two  savages, 
laired,  suspicious. 

Almost  as  we  paused  I  saw  coming  forward  the  stooping 
figure  of  an  Indian  trailer,  half  naked,  beleggined,  mocca- 
sined,  following  our  fresh  tracks  at  a  trot.  I  covered  him 
with  the  little  silver  bead,  minded  to  end  his  quest.  But 
before  I  could  estimate  his  errand,  or  prepare  to  receive  him 
closely  in  case  he  proved  an  enemy,  I  saw  approaching  around 
a  little  point  of  timber  other  men,  white  men,  a  half  dozen  of 
them,  one  a  tall  man  in  dusty  garments,  with  boots,  and  hat, 
and  gloves. 

And  then  I  saw  her,  my  promised  wife,  leave  my  side, 
and  limp  and  stagger  forward,  her  arms  outstretched.  I  saw 
the  yoke  of  submission,  the  covenant  of  society,  once  more 
accepted. 

"Father!"  she  cried. 

They  gathered  about  us.  I  saw  him  look  down  at  her 
with  half  horror  on  his  face.  Then  I  noticed  that  she  was 
clad  in  fringed  skins,  that  her  head  covering  was  a  bit  of 

239 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

hide,  that  her  hair  was  burned  yellow  at  the  ends,  that  her 
foot  coverings  were  uncouth,  that  her  hands  and  arms  were 
brown,  where  not  stained  red  by  the  blood  in  which  they  had 
dabbled.  I  looked  down  also  at  myself,  and  saw  then  that 
I  was  tall,  brown,  gaunt,  bearded,  ragged,  my  clothing  of 
wool  well-nigh  gone,  my  limbs  wound  in  puttee  bands  of 
hide,  my  hands  large,  horny,  blackened,  rough.  I  reeked 
with  grime.  I  was  a  savage  new  drawn  from  my  cave.  I 
dragged  behind  me  the  great  grizzled  hide  of  the  dead  bear, 
clutched  in  one  hairy  hand.  And  somber  and  sullen  as  any 
savage,  brutal  and  silent  in  resentment  at  being  disturbed,  I 
stared  at  them. 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  tall  man  of  me  sternly; 
but  still  I  did  not  answer.  The  girl's  hands  tugged  at  his 
shoulders.  "It  is  my  friend,"  she  said.  "He  saved  me. 
It  is  Mr.  John  Cowles,  father,  of  the  Virginia  Cowles  family. 
He  has  come  to  see  you — "  But  he  did  not  hear  her,  or 
show  that  he  heard.  His  arm  about  her,  supporting  her  as 
she  limped,  he  turned  back  down  the  valley,  and  we  others 
followed  slowly. 

Presently  he  came  to  the  rude  shelter  which  had  been  our 
home.  Without  speaking  he  walked  about  the  camp,  pushed 
open  the  door  of  the  little  ragged  tepee  and  looked  within. 
The  floor  was  very  narrow.  There  was  one  meager  bed  of 
hides.  There  was  one  fire. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said  at  length  to  me.  And  so  I  fol 
lowed  him  apart,  where  a  little  thicket  gave  us  more  privacy. 

His  was  a  strong  face,  keen  under  heavy  gray  brows,  with 
hair  that  rose  stiff  and  gray  over  a  high  forehead,  so  that  he 
seemed  like  some  Osage  chief,  taller  by  a  third  than  most 
men,  and  naturally  a  commander  among  others. 

240 


Father!'    she  cried"    (see  page  239) 


THE  LOSS   OF  PARADISE 

"You  are  John  Cowles,sir,  then?"  he  said  to  me  at- length, 
quietly.  "Lieutenant  Belknap  told  me  something  of  this 
when  he  came  in  with  his  men  from  the  East."  I  nodded 
and  waited. 

"Are  you  aware,  sir,  of  the  seriousness  of  what  you  have 
done?"  he  broke  out.  "Why  did  you  not  come  on  to  the 
settlements?  What  reason  was  there  for  you  not  coming 
back  at  once  to  the  valley  of  the  Platte — here  you  are,  a 
hundred  miles  out  of  your  way,  where  a  man  of  any  intelli 
gence,  it  seems  to  me,  would  naturally  have  turned  back  to 
the  great  trail.  Hundreds  of  wagons  pass  there  every  day. 
There  is  a  stage  line  with  daily  coaches,  stations,  houses.  A 
telegraph  line  runs  from  one  end  of  the  valley  to  the  other. 
You  could  not  have  missed  all  this  had  you  struck  south.  A 
fool  would  have  known  that.  But  you  took  my  girl — "  he 
choked  up,  and  pointed  to  me,  ragged  and  uncouth. 

"Good  God!  Colonel  Meriwether,"  I  cried  out  at  length, 
"you  are  not  regretting  that  I  brought  her  through?" 

"  Almost,  sir,"  he  said,  setting  his  lips  together.    "  Almost ! " 

"Do  you  regret  then  that  she  brought  me  through — that 
I  owe  my  life  to  her?" 

"Almost,  sir,"  he  repeated.     "I  almost  regret  it." 

"Then  go  back — leave  us — report  us  dead!"  I  broke  out, 
savagely.  It  was  moments  before  I  could  accept  this  "old 
life  again  offered  me. 

"She  is  a  splendid  girl,  a  noble  being,"  I  said  to  him,  slowly, 
at  last.  "She  saved  me  when  I  was  sick  and  unable  to 
travel.  There  is  nothing  I  could  do  that  would  pay  the  debt 
I  owe  to  her.  She  is  a  noble  woman,  a  princess  among 
women,  body  and  soul." 

"She  is  like  her  mother,"  said  he,  quietly.  "She  was  too 

•241 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

good  for  this.  Sir,  you  have  done  my  family  a  grievous 
wrong.  You  have  ruined  my  daughter's  life." 

Now  at  last  I  could  talk.  I  struck  my  hand  hard  on  his 
shoulder  and  looked  him  full  in  the  eye.  "  Colonel  Meri- 
wether,"  I  said  to  him,  "I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  He  frowned  sternly  and  shook 
off  my  hand. 

"I  brought  her  through,"  I  said,  "and  if  it  would  do  any 
good,  I  would  lie  down  here  and  die  for  her.  If  what  I  say 
is  not  true,  draw  up  your  men  for  a  firing  squad  and  let  us 
end  it.  I  don't  care  to  go  back  to  Laramie." 

"What  good  would  that  do?"  said  he.  "It's  the  girl's 
name  that's  compromised,  man!  Why,  the  news  of  this  is 
all  over  the  country — the  wires  have  carried  it  both  sides  of 
the  mountains;  the  papers  are  full  of  it  in  the  East.  You 
have  been  gone  nearly  three  months  together,  and  all  the 
world  knows  it.  Don't  you  suppose  all  the  world  will  talk? 
Did  I  not  see — "  he  motioned  his  hand  toward  our  encamp 
ment. 

He  babbled  of  such  things,  small,  unimportant,  to  me, 
late  from  large  things  in  life.  I  interrupted  long  enough  to 
tell  him  briefly  of  our  journey,  of  our  hardships,  of  what  we 
had  gone  through,  of  how  my  sickness  had  rendered  it  im 
possible  for  us  to  return  at  once,  of  how  we  had  wandered, 
with  what  little  judgment  remained  to  us,  how  we  had  lived 
in  the  meantime. 

He  shook  his  head.     "I  know  men,"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  would  have  been  no  man  worth  the  name 
had  I  not  loved  your  daughter.  And  I  admit  to  you  that  I 
shall  never  love  another  woman,  not  in  all  my  life." 

In  answer  he  flung  down  on  the  ground  in  front  of  me  some- 

242 


THE  LOSS   OF  PARADISE 

thing  that  he  carried — the  scroll  of  our  covenant,  signed  by 
my  name  and  in  part  by  hers. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked. 

"It  means,"  said  I,  "what  it  says;  that  here  or  anywhere, 
in  sickness  or  in  health,  in  adversity  or  prosperity,  until  I  lie 
down  to  die  and  she  beside  me  in  her  time,  we  two  are  in  the 
eye  of  God  married;  and  in  the  eye  of  man  would  have  been, 
here  or  wherever  else  we  might  be." 

I  saw  his  face  pale ;  but  a  somber  flame  came  into  his  eyes. 
"And  you  say  this — you,  after  all  I  know  regarding  you!" 

Again  I  felt  that  old  chill  of  terror  and  self-reproach  strike 
to  my  heart.  I  saw  my  guilt  once  more,  horrible  as  though 
an  actual  presence.  I  remembered  what  Ellen  Meriwether 
had  said  to  me  regarding  any  other  or  earlier  covenant.  I 
recalled  my  troth,  plighted  earlier,  before  I  had  ever  seen  her. 
— my  faith,  pledged  in  another  world.  So,  seeing  myself 
utterly  ruined  in  my  own  sight  and  his  and  hers,  I  turned  to 
him  at  length,  with  no  pride  in  my  bearing. 

"So  I  presume  Gordon  Orme  has  told  you,"  I  said  to  him. 
"You  know  of  Grace  Sheraton,  back  there?" 

His  lips  but  closed  the  tighter.  "Have  you  told  her — 
have  you  told  this  to  my  girl?"  he  asked,  finally. 

"  Draw  up  your  file ! "  I  cried,  springing  to  my  feet.  "  Exe 
cute  me!  I  deserve  it.  No,  I  have  not  told  her.  I  planned 
to  do  so — I  should  never  have  allowed  her  to  sign  her  name 
there  before  I  had  told  her  everything — been  fair  to  her  as  I 
could.  But  her  accident  left  her  weak — I  could  not  tell  her 
— a  thousand  things  delayed  it.  Yes,  it  was  my  fault." 

He  looked  me  over  with  contempt.  "You  are  not  fit  to 
touch  the  shoe  on  my  girl's  foot,"  he  said  slowly.  "But 
now,  since  this  thing  has  begun,  since  you  have  thus  involved 

243 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

her  and  compromised  her,  and  as  I  imagine  in  some  foul 
way  have  engaged  her  affections — now,  I  say,  it  must  go  on. 
When  we  get  to  Laramie,  by  God!  sir,  you  shall  marry  that 
girl.  And  then  out  you  go,  and  never  see  her  face  again. 
She  is  too  good  for  you,  but  where  you  can  be  of  use  to  her, 
for  this  reason,  you  shall  be  used." 

I  seated  myself,  my  head  in  my  hands,  and  pondered.  He 
was  commanding  me  to  do  that  which  was  my  dearest  wish  in 
life.  But  he  was  commanding  me  to  complete  my  own  folly. 
"Colonel  Meriwether,"  said  I  to  him,  finally,  "if  it  would 
do  her  any  good  I  would  give  up  my  life  for  her.  But  her 
father  can  neither  tell  me  how  nor  when  my  marriage  cere 
mony  runs;  nor  can  he  tell  me  when  to  leave  the  side  of  the 
woman  who  is  my  wife.  I  am  subject  to  the  orders  of  no 
man  in  the  world." 

"You  refuse  to  do  what  you  have  planned  to  do?  Sir, 
that  shows  you  as  you  are.  You  proposed  to — to  live  with 
her  here,  but  not  be  bound  to  her  elsewhere!" 

"It  is  not  true!"  I  said  to  him  in  somber  anger.  "I  pro 
posed  to  put  before  her  the  fact  of  my  own  weakness,  of  my 
own  self-deception,  which  also  was  deception  of  her.  I  pro 
pose  to  do  that  now." 

"If  you  did,  she  would  refuse  to  look  at  you  again." 
* '  I  know  it,  but  it  must  be  done.     I  must  take  my  chances. ' ' 
"And  your  chances  mean  this  alternative — either  that  my 
girl's  reputation  shall  be  ruined  all  over  the  country — all 
through  the  Army,  where  she  is  known  and  loved — or  else 
that  her  heart  must  be  broken.     This  is  what  it  means,  Mr. 
Cowles.     This  is  what  you  have  brought  to  my  family." 
"Yes,"  I  said  to  him,  slowly, "this  is  what  I  have  brought." 
"Then  which  do  you  choose,  sir?"  he  demanded  of  me. 

244 


THE  LOSS  OF  PARADISE 

"I  choose  to  break  her  heart!"  I  answered.  "Because 
that  is  the  truth,  and  that  is  right.  I  only  know  one  way  to 
ride,  and  that  is  straight." 

He  smiled  at  me  coldly  in  his  frosty  beard.  "That  sounds 
well  from  you!"  he  said  bitterly.  "Ellen!"  he  raised  his 
voice.  "Ellen,  I  say,  come  here  at  once!" 

It  was  my  ear  which  first  heard  the  rustling  of  her  foot 
steps  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket  as  she  approached.  She 
came  before  us  slowly,  halting,  leaning  on  her  crutch.  A 
soft  flush  shone  through  the  brown  upon  her  cheeks. 

I  shall  not  forget  in  all  my  life  the  picture  of  her  as  she 
stood.  Neither  shall  I  forget  the  change  which  came  across 
her  face  as  she  saw  us  sitting  there  silent,  cold,  staring  at  her. 
Then,  lovable  in  her  rags,  beautiful  in  her  savagery,  the  gen 
tleness  of  generations  of  culture  in  all  her  mien  in  spite  of 
her  rude  surroundings,  she  stepped  up  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  her  father's  shoulder,  one  ringer  half  pointing  at  the 
ragged  scroll  of  hide  which  lay  upon  the  ground  before  us. 
I  loved  her — ah,  how  I  loved  her  then! 

"I  signed  that,  father,"  she  said  gently.  "I  was  going  to 
sign  it,  little  by  little,  a  letter  each  week.  We  were  engaged — 
nothing  more.  But  here  or  anywhere,  some  time,  I  intend  to 
marry  Mr.  Cowles.  This  I  have  promised  of  my  own  free  will. 
He  has  been  both  man  and  gentleman,  father.  I  love  him." 

I  heard  the  groan  which  came  from  his  throat.  She 
sprang  back.  "What  is  it?"  she  said.  The  old  fire  of  her 
disposition  again  broke  out. 

"What!"  she  cried.  "You  object?  Listen,  I  will  sign 
my  name  now — I  will  finish  it — give  me — give  me — "  She 
sought  about  on  the  ground  for  something  which  would 
leave  a  mark.  "I  say  I  have  not  been  his,  but  will  be, 

245 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

father — as  I  like,  when  I  like — now,  this  very  night  if  I 
choose — forever!  He  has  done  everything  for  me — I  trust 
him — I  know  he  is  a  man  of  honor,  that  he — "  Her  voice 
broke  as  she  looked  at  my  face. 

"But  what — what  is  it?"  she  demanded,  brokenly,  in  her 
own  eyes  something  of  the  horror  which  sat  in  mine.  I  say 
I  see  her  picture  now,  tall,  straight,  sweet,  her  hands  on  her 
lifting  bosom,  eagerness  and  anxiety  fighting  on  her  face. 

"  Ellen,  child,  Mr.  Cowles  has  something  to  tell  you." 

Then  some  one,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  like  mine,  but 
was  not  mine,  told  her — told  her  the  truth,  which  sounded 
so  like  a  lie.  Some  one,  myself,  yet  not  myself,  went  on, 
cruelly,  blackening  all  the  sweet  blue  sky  for  her.  Some 
one — I  suppose  it  was  myself,  late  free — felt  the  clamp  of 
an  iron  yoke  upon  his  neck. 

I  saw  her  knees  sink  beneath  her,  but  she  shrank  back 
when  I  would  have  reached  out  an  arm  as  of  old. 

"I  hate  that  woman!"  she  blazed.  "Suppose  she  does 
love  you — do  I  not  love  you  more?  Let  her  lose — some  one 
must  lose!"  But  at  the  next  moment  her  anger  had  changed 
to  doubt,  to  horror.  I  saw  her  face  change,  saw  her  hand 
drop  to  her  side. 

"It  is  not  that  you  loved  another  girl,"  she  whispered,  "but 
that  you  have  deceived  me — here,  when  I  was  in  your  power. 
Oh,  it  was  not  right !  How  could  you !  Oh,  how  could  you ! " 

Then  once  more  she  changed.  The  flame  of  her  thorough 
bred  soul  came  back  to  her.  Her  courage  saved  her  from 
shame.  Her  face  flushed,  she  stood  straight.  "I  hate  you! " 
she  cried  to  me.  "Go!  I  will  never  see  you  any  more." 

Still  the  bright  sun  shone  on.  A  little  bird  trilled  in  the 
thicket  near. 

246 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE   YOKE 

WHEN  we  started  to  the  south  on  the  following 
morning,  I  rode  far  at  the  rear,  under  guard.  I 
recall  little  of  our  journey  toward  Laramie, 
save  that  after  a  day  or  two  we  swung  out  from  the  foot 
hills  into  a  short  grass  country,  and  so  finally  struck  the  steady 
upward  sweep  of  a  valley  along  which  lay  the  great  trans 
continental  trail.  I  do  not  know  whether  we  traveled  two 
days,  or  three,  or  four,  since  all  the  days  seemed  night  to 
me,  and  all  the  nights  were  uniform  in  torture.  Finally,  we 
drove  down  into  a  dusty  plain,  and  so  presently  came  to  the 
old  frontier  fort.  Here,  then,  was  civilization — the  stage 
coach,  the  new  telegraph  wire,  men  and  women,  weekly  or 
daily  touch  with  the  world,  that  prying  curiosity  regarding 
the  affairs  of  others  which  we  call  news.  To  me  it  seemed 
tawdry,  sordid,  worthless,  after  that  which  I  had  left.  The 
noise  seemed  insupportable,  the  food  distasteful.  I  could 
tolerate  no  roof,  and  in  my  own  ragged  robes  slept  on  the 
ground  within  the  old  stockade. 

I  was  still  guarded  as  a  prisoner;  I  was  approached  by 
none  and  had  conversation  with  none  until  evening  of  the 
day  after  my  arrival.  When  I  ate,  it  was  at  no  gentleman's 
table,  but  in  the  barracks.  I  resented  judgment,  sentence 
and  punishment,  thus  executed  in  one. 

Evening  gun  had  sounded,  and  the  flag  had  been  furled 

247 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

on  my  second  day  at  Laramie,  when  finally  Colonel  Meri- 
wether  sent  for  me  to  come  to  his  office  quarters.  He  got 
swiftly  enough  to  the  matters  on  his  mind. 

"Mr.  Cowles,"  said  he,  "it  is  time  now  that  you  and  I 
had  a  talk.  Presently  you  will  be  leaving  Laramie.  I  can 
not  try  you  by  court  martial,  for  you  are  a  civilian.  In 
short,  all  I  can  say  to  you  is  to  go,  with  the  hope  that  you 
may  never  again  cross  our  lives." 

I  looked  at  him  a  time,  silently,  hating  not  him  personally 
as  much  as  I  hated  all  the  world.  But  presently  I  asked 
him,  "Have  you  no  word  for  me  from  her?" 

"Miss  Meri wether  has  no  word  for  you,"  he  answered, 
sternly,  "nor  ever  will  have.  You  are  no  longer  necessary 
in  her  plans." 

"Ah,  then,"  said  I,  "you  have  changed  your  own  mind 
mightily." 

He  set  his  lips  together  in  his  grim  fashion.  "Yes,"  said 
he,  "I  have  changed  my  mind  absolutely.  I  have  just  come 
from  a  very  trying  interview.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to 
explain  to  you  the  full  nature  of  it " 

"Then  she  has  sent  for  me?" 

"She  will  never  send  for  you,  I  have  said." 

"But  listen.  At  least,  I  have  brought  her  back  to  you 
safe  and  sound.  Setting  aside  all  my  own  acts  in  other 
matters,  why  can  you  not  remember  at  least  so  much  as  that? 
Yet  you  treat  me  like  a  dog.  I  tell  you,  I  shall  not  leave 
without  word  from  her,  and  when  I  leave  I  shall  make  no 
promises  as  to  when  I  shall  or  shall  not  come  back.  So 
long  as  one  chance  remains " 

"I  tell  you  that  there  is  no  longer  any  chance,  no  longer 
the  ghost  of  a  chance.  It  is  my  duty  to  inform  you,  sir,  that 

248 


THE   YOKE 

a  proper  suitor  long  ago  applied  for  my  daughter's  hand, 
that  he  has  renewed  his  suit,  and  that  now  she  has  accepted 
him." 

For  a  time  I  sat  staring  stupidly  at  him.  "  You  need  speak 
nothing  but  the  truth  with  me,"  I  said  at  last.  "Colonel 
Meriwether,  I  have  never  given  bonds  to  be  gentle  when 
abused." 

"I  am  telling  you  the  truth,"  he  said.  "By  God,  sir! 
Miss  Meriwether  is  engaged  to  Lieutenant  Lawrence  Bel- 
knap  of  the  Ninth  Dragoons !  You  feel  your  honor  too  deeply 
touched?  Perhaps  at  a  later  time  Lieutenant  Belknap  will 
do  himself  the  disgrace  of  accommodating  you." 

All  these  things  seemed  to  dull  and  stupefy  me  rather  than 
excite.  I  could  not  understand. 

"If  I  killed  him,"  said  I,  finally,  "how  would  it  better  her 
case?  Moreover,  before  I  could  take  any  more  risk,  I  must  go 
back  to  Virginia.  My  mother  needs  me  there  most  sadly." 

"Yes,  and  Miss  Grace  Sheraton  needs  you  there  sadly,  as 
well,"  he  retorted.  "Go  back,  then,  and  mend  your  prom 
ises,  and  do  some  of  those  duties  which  you  now  begin  to 
remember.  You  have  proved  yourself  a  man  of  no  honor. 
I  stigmatize  you  now  as  a  coward." 

There  seemed  no  tinder  left  in  my  spirit  to  flame  at  this 
spark.  "You  speak  freely  to  your  prisoner,  Colonel  Meri 
wether,"  I  said,  slowly,  at  length.  "There  is  time  yet  for 
many  risks — chances  for  many  things.  But  now  I  think  you 
owe  it  to  me  to  tell  me  how  this  matter  was  arranged." 

"Very  well,  then.  Belknap  asked  me  for  permission  to 
try  his  chance  long  ago — before  I  came  west  to  Laramie. 
I  assigned  him  to  bring  her  through  to  me.  He  was  dis 
tracted  at  his  failure  to  do  so.  He  has  been  out  with  parties 

249 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

all  the  summer,  searching  for  you  both,  and  has  not  been 
back  at  Laramie  more  than  ten  days.  Oh,  we  all  knew  why 
you  did  not  come  back  to  the  settlements.  When  we  came 
in  he  guessed  all  that  you  know.  He  knew  that  all  the 
world  would  talk.  And  like  a  man  he  asked  the  right  to 
silence  all  that  talk  forever." 

"And  she  agreed?  Ellen  Meri wether  accepted  him  on 
such  terms?" 

"  It  is  arranged,"  said  he,  not  answering  me  directly,  "  and 
it  removes  at  once  all  necessity  for  any  other  arrangement. 
As  for  you,  you  disappear.  It  will  be  announced  all  through 
the  Army  that  she  and  Lieutenant  Belknap  were  married  at 
Leavenworth  before  they  started  West,  and  that  it  was  they 
two,  and  not  you  and  my  daughter,  who  were  lost." 

"And  Belknap  was  content  to  do  this?"  I  mused.  "He 
would  do  this  after  Ellen  told  him  that  she  loved  me " 

"Stop!"  thundered  Colonel  Meriwether.  "I  have  told 
you  all  that  is  necessary.  I  will  add  that  he  said  to  me,  like 
the  gentleman  he  is,  that  in  case  my  daughter  asked  it,  he 
would  marry  her  and  leave  her  at  once,  until  she  of  her  own 
free  will  asked  him  to  return.  There  is  abundant  opportu 
nity  for  swift  changes  in  the  Army.  What  seems  to  you 
absurd  will  work  out  in  perfectly  practical  fashion." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "in  fashion  perfectly  practical  for  the  ruin 
of  her  life.  You  may  leave  mine  out  of  the  question." 

"I  do,  sir,"  was  his  icy  reply.  "She  told  you  to  your 
face,  and  in  my  hearing,  that  you  had  deceived  her,  that  you 
must  go." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  dully,  "I  did  deceive  her,  and  there  is  no 
punishment  on  earth  great  enough  to  give  me  for  that — 
except  to  have  no  word  from  her!" 

250 


THE   YOKE 

"You  are  to  go  at  once.  I  put  it  beyond  you  to  under 
stand  Belknap's  conduct  in  this  matter." 

"He  is  a  gentleman,"  I  said,  "and  fit  to  love  her.  I  think 
none  of  us  needs  praise  or  blame  for  that." 

He  choked  up.  "She's  my  girl,"  he  said.  "Yes,  all  my 
boys  in  the  Army  love  her — there  isn't  one  of  them  that 
wouldn't  be  proud  to  marry  her  on  any  terms  she  would  lay 
down.  And  there  isn't  a  man  in  the  Army,  married  or  single, 
that  wouldn't  challenge  you  if  you  breathed  a  word  of  what 
has  gone  between  you  and  her." 

I  looked  at  him  and  made  no  motion.  It  seemed  to  me 
so  unspeakably  sad,  so  incredible,  that  one  should  be  so 
unbelievably  underestimated. 

"Now,  finally,"  resumed  Colonel  Meri wether,  after  a 
time,  ceasing  his  walking  up  and  down,  "I  must  close  up 
what  remains  between  you  and  me.  My  daughter  said  to 
me  that  you  wanted  to  see  me  on  some  business  matter.  Of 
course  you  had  some  reason  for  coming  out  here." 

"That  was  my  only  reason  for  coming,"  I  rejoined.  "I 
wanted  to  see  you  upon  an  important  business  matter.  I 
was  sent  here  by  the  last  message  my  father  gave  any  one — 
by  the  last  words  he  spoke  in  his  life.  He  told  me  I  should 
come  to  you." 

"Well,  well,  if  you  have  any  favor  to  ask  of  me,  out  with 
it,  and  let  us  end  it  all  at  one  sitting." 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "I  would  see  you  damned  in  hell  before  I 
would  ask  a  crust  or  a  cup  of  water  of  you,  though  I  were 
starving  and  burning.  I  have  heard  enough." 

"Orderly!"  he  called  out.     "Show  this  man  to  the  gate." 


251 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE  GOAD   . 

IT  WAS  at  last  borne  in  upon  me  that  I  must  leave 
without  any  word  from  Ellen.  She  was  hedged  about 
by  all  the  stern  and  cold  machinery  of  an  Army  Post, 
out  of  whose  calculations  I  was  left  as  much  as  though  I 
belonged  to  a  different  world.  I  cannot  express  what  this 
meant  for  me.  For  weeks  now,  for  months,  indeed,  we  two 
had  been  together  each  hour  of  the  day.  I  had  come  to 
expect  her  greeting  in  the  morning,  to  turn  to  her  a  thousand 
times  in  the  day  with  some  query  or  answer.  I  had  made 
no  plan  from  which  she  was  absent.  I  had  come  to  accept 
myself,  with  her,  as  fit  part  of  an  appointed  and  happy 
scheme.  Now,  in  a  twinkling,  all  that  had  been  subverted. 
I  was  robbed  of  her  exquisite  dependence  upon  me,  of  those 
tender  defects  of  nature  that  rendered  her  most  dear.  I  was 
to  miss  now  her  fineness,  her  weakness  and  trustfulness, 
which  had  been  a  continual  delight.  I  could  no  longer  see 
her  eyes  nor  touch  her  hands,  nor  sit  silent  at  her  feet,  dream 
ing  of  days  to  come.  Her  voice  was  gone  from  my  listening 
ears.  Always  I  waited  to  hear  her  footstep,  but  it  came  no 
longer,  rustling  in  the  grasses.  It  seemed  to  me  that  by 
some  hard  decree  I  had  been  deprived  of  all  my  senses;  for 
not  one  was  left  which  did  not  crave  and  cry  aloud  for  her. 
It  was  thus  that  I,  dulled, '  bereft ;  I,  having  lived,  now 
dead;  I,  late  free,  now  bound  again,  turned  away  sullenly,  and 

252 


THE  GOAD 

began  my  journey  back  to  the  life  I  had  known  before  I 
met  her. 

As  I  passed  East  by  the  Denver  stage,  I  met  hurrying 
throngs  always  coming  westward,  a  wavelike  migration  of 
population  now  even  denser  than  it  had  been  the  preceding 
spring.  It  was  as  Colonel  Meriwether  said,  the  wagons 
almost  touched  from  the  Platte  to  the  Rockies.  They  came 
on,  a  vast,  continuous  stream  of  hope,  confidence  and  youth. 
I,  who  stemmed  that  current,  alone  was  unlike  it  in  all  ways. 

One  thing  only  quickened  my  laggard  heart,  and  that  was 
the  all  prevalent  talk  of  war.  The  debates  of  Lincoln  and 
Douglas,  the  consequences  of  Lincoln's  possible  election, 
the  growing  dissensions  in  the  Army  over  Buchanan's  prac 
tically  overt  acts  of  war — these  made  the  sole  topics  of  con 
versation.  I  heard  my  own  section,  my  own  State,  criticised 
bitterly,  and  all  Southerners  called  traitors  to  that  flag  I  had 
seen  flying  over  the  frontiers  of  the  West.  At  times,  I  say, 
these  things  caused  my  blood  to  stir  once  more,  though  per 
haps  it  was  not  all  through  patriotism. 

At  last,  after  weeks  of  travel  across  a  disturbed  country,  I 
finally  reached  the  angry  hive  of  political  dissension  at 
Washington.  Here  I  was  near  home,  but  did  not  tarry, 
and  passed  thence  by  stage  to  Leesburg,  in  Virginia ;  and  so 
finally  came  back  into  our  little  valley  and  the  quiet  town  of 
Wallingford.  I  had  gone  away  the  victim  of  misfortune;  I 
returned  home  with  a  broken  word  and  an  unfinished  promise 
and  a  shaken  heart.  That  was  my  return. 

I  got  me  a  horse  at  Wallingford  barns,  and  rode  out  to 
Cowles'  Farms.  At  the  gate  I  halted  and  looked  in  over 
the  wide  lawns.  It  seemed  to  me  I  noted  a  change  in  them 
as  in  myself.  The  grass  was  unkempt,  the  flower  beds 

253 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

showed  little  attention.  The  very  seats  upon  the  distant 
gallery  seemed  unfamiliar,  as  though  arranged  by  some  care 
less  hand.  I  opened  the  gate  for  myself,  rode  up  to  the  old 
stoop  and  dismounted,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  there 
without  a  boy  to  take  my  horse.  I  walked  slowly  up  the 
steps  to  the  great  front  door  of  the  old  house.  No  servant 
came  to  meet  me,  grinning.  I,  grandson  of  the  man  who 
built  that  house,  my  father's  home  and  mine,  lifted  the  bra 
zen  knocker  of  the  door  and  heard  no  footstep  anticipate  my 
knock.  The  place  sounded  empty. 

Finally  there  came  a  shuffling  footfall  and  the  door  was 
opened,  but  there  stood  before  me  no  one  that  I  recognized. 
It  was  a  smallish,  oldish,  grayish  man  who  opened  the  door 
and  smiled  in  query  at  me. 

"I  am  John  Cowles,  sir,"  I  said,  hesitating.  "Yourself  I 
do  not  seem  to  know " 

"My  name  is  Halliday,  Mr.  Cowles,"  he  replied.  A  flush 
of  humiliation  came  to  my  face. 

"I  should  know  you.     You  were  my  father's  creditor." 

"Yes,  sir,  my  firm  was  the  holder  of  certain  obligations  at 
the  time  of  your  father's  death.  You  have  been  gone  very 
long  without  word  to  us.  Meantime,  pending  any  action — " 

"You  have  moved  in!" 

"I  have  ventured  to  take  possession,  Mr.  Cowles.  That 
was  as  your  mother  wished.  She  waived  all  her  rights  and 
surrendered  everything,  said  all  the  debts  must  be  paid " 

"Of  course " 

"And  all  we  could  prevail  upon  her  to  do  was  to  take  up 
her  quarters  there  in  one  of  the  little  houses." 

He  pointed  with  this  euphemism  toward  our  old  servants' 
quarters.  So  there  was  my  mother,  a  woman  gently  reared, 

254 


THE  GOAD 

tenderly  cared  for  all  her  life,  living  in  a  cabin  where  once 
slaves  had  lived.  And  I  had  come  back  to  her,  to  tell  a  story 
such  as  mine! 

"I  hope,"  said  he,  hesitating,  "that  all  these  matters  may 
presently  be  adjusted.  But  first  I  ask  you  to  influence  your 
mother  to  come  back  into  the  place  and  take  up  her  resi 
dence." 

I  smiled  slowly.  "You  hardly  understand  her,"  I  said. 
"I  doubt  if  my  influence  will  suffice  for  that.  But  I  shall 
meet  you  again."  I  was  turning  away. 

"Your  mother,  I  believe,  is  not  here — she  went  over  to 
Wallingford.  I  think  it  is  the  day  when  she  goes  to  the  little 
church " 

"Yes,  I  know.  If  you  will  excuse  me  I  shall  ride  over  to 
see  if  I  can  find  her."  He  bowed.  Presently  I  was  hurrying 
down  the  road  again.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  never 
tolerate  the  sight  of  a  stranger  as  master  at  Cowles'  Farms. 


255 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

THE   FURROW 

I  FOUND  her  at  the  churchyard  of  the  old  meeting 
house.  She  was  just  turning  toward  the  gate  in  the 
low  sandstone  wall  which  surrounded  the  burying 
ground  and  separated  it  from  the  space  immediately  about 
the  little  stone  church.  It  was  a  beautiful  spot,  here  where 
the  sun  came  through  the  great  oaks  that  had  never  known 
an  ax,  resting  upon  blue  grass  that  had  never  known  a  plow 
— a  spot  virgin  as  it  was  before  old  Lord  Fairfax  ever  claimed 
it  in  his  loose  ownership.  Everything  about  it  spoke  of  quiet 
and  gentleness. 

I  knew  what  it  was  that  she  looked  upon  as  she  turned 
back  toward  that  spot — it  was  one  more  low  mound,  simple, 
unpretentious,  added  to  the  many  which  had  been  placed 
there  this  last  century  and  a  half;  one  more  little  gray  sand 
stone  head-mark,  cut  simply  with  the  name  and  dates  of  him 
who  rested  there,  last  in  a  long  roll  of  our  others.  The  slight 
figure  in  the  dove-colored  gown  looked  back  lingeringly.  It 
gave  a  new  ache  to  my  heart  to  see  her  there. 

She  did  not  notice  me  as  I  slipped  down  from  my  saddle 
and  fastened  my  horse  at  the  long  rack.  But  when  I  called 
she  turned  and  came  to  me  with  open  arms. 

"Jack!"  she  cried.  "My  son,  how  I  have  missed  thee! 
Now  thee  has  come  back  to  thy  mother."  She  put  her  fore 
head  on  my  shoulder,  but  presently  took  up  a  mother's  scru- 

256 


THE  FURROW 

tiny.  Her  hand  stroked  my  hair,  my  unshaven  beard,  took 
in  each  line  of  my  face. 

"Thee  has  a  button  from  thy  coat,"  she  said,  reprovingly. 
"And  what  is  this  scar  on  thy  neck — thee  did  not  tell  me 
when  thee  wrote,  Jack,  what  ails  thee?"  She  looked  at  me 
closely.  "Thee  is  changed.  Thee  is  older — what  has  come 
to  thee,  my  son?" 

"Come,"  I  said  to  her  at  length,  and  led  her  toward  the 
steps  of  the  little  church. 

Then  I  broke  out  bitterly  and  railed  against  our  ill-fortune, 
and  cursed  at  the  man  who  would  allow  her  to  live  in  ser 
vants'  quarters — indeed,  railed  at  all  of  life. 

"Thee  must  learn  to  subdue  thyself,  my  son,"  she  said. 
"It  is  only  so  that  strength  comes  to  us — when  we  bend  the 
back  to  the  furrow  God  sets  for  us.  I  am  quite  content  in 
my  little  rooms.  I  have  made  them  very  clean;  and  I  have 
with  me  a  few  things  of  my  own — a  few,  not  many." 

"But  your  neighbors,  mother,  the  Sheratons " 

"Oh,  certainly,  they  asked  me  to  live  with  them.  But  I 
was  not  moved  to  do  that.  You  see,  I  know  each  rose  bush 
and  each  apple  tree  on  our  old  place.  I  did  not  like  to  leave 
them. 

"Besides,  as  to  the  Sheratons,  Jack,"  she  began  again — 
"I  do  not  wish  to  say  one  word  to  hurt  thy  feelings,  but  Miss 
Grace " 

"What  about  Miss  Grace?" 

"Mr.  Orme,  the  gentleman  who  once  stopped  with  us  a 
few  days " 

"Oh,  Orme!  Is  he  here  again?  He  was  all  through  the 
West  with  me — I  met  him  everywhere  there.  Now  I  meet 
him  here!" 

257 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"He  returned  last  summer,  and  for  most  of  his  time  has 
been  living  at  the  Sheratons'.  He  and  Colonel  Sheraton 
agree  very  well.  And  he  and  Miss  Grace — I  do  not  like  to 
say  these  things  to  thee,  my  son,  but  they  also  seem  to  agree." 

"Go  on,"  I  demanded,  bitterly. 

"Whether  Miss  Grace's  fancy  has  changed,  I  do  not  know, 
but  thy  mother  ought  to  tell  thee  this,  so  that  if  she  should 
jilt  thee,  why,  then " 

"Yes,"  said  I,  slowly,  "it  would  be  hard  for  me  to  speak 
the  first  word  as  to  a  release." 

"But  if  she  does  not  love  thee,  surely  she  will  speak  that 
word.  So  then  say  good-by  to  her  and  set  about  thy  business." 

I  could  not  at  that  moment  find  it  in  my  heart  to  speak 
further.  We  rose  and  walked  down  to  the  street  of  the  little 
town,  and  at  the  tavern  barn  I  secured  a  conveyance  which 
took  us  both  back  to  what  had  once  been  our  home.  It  was 
my  mother's  hands  which,  at  a  blackened  old  fireplace,  in 
a  former  slave's  cabin,  prepared  what  we  ate  that  evening. 
Then,  as  the  sun  sank  in  a  warm  glow  beyond  the  old  Blue 
Ridge,  and  our  little  valley  lay  there  warm  and  peaceful  as 
of  old,  I  drew  her  to  the  rude  porch  of  the  whitewashed  cabin, 
and  we  looked  out,  and  talked  of  things  which  must  be  men 
tioned.  I  told  her — told  her  all  my  sad  and  bitter  story, 
from  end  to  end. 

"This,  then,"  I  concluded,  more  than  an  hour  after  I  had 
begun,  "is  what  I  have  brought  back  to  you — failure,  failure, 
nothing  but  failure." 

We  sat  in  silence,  looking  out  into  the  starry  night,  how 
long  I  do  not  know.  Then  I  heard  her  pray,  openly,  as  was 
not  the  custom  of  her  people.  "Lord,  this  is  not  my  will. 
Is  this  Thy  will?" 

258 


THE  FURROW 

After  a  time  she  put  her  hand  upon  mine.  "My  son, 
now  let  us  reason  what  is  the  law.  From  the  law  no  man 
may  escape.  Let  us  see  who  is  the  criminal.  And  if  that 
be  thee,  then  let  my  son  have  his  punishment." 

I  allowed  the  edge  of  her  gentle  words  to  bite  into  my  soul, 
but  I  could  not  speak. 

"But  one  thing  I  know,"  she  concluded,  "thee  is  John 
Cowles,  the  son  of  my  husband,  John;  and  thee  at  the  last 
will  do  what  is  right,  what  thy  heart  says  to  thee  is  right." 

She  kissed  me  on  the  cheek  and  so  arose.  All  that  night 
I  felt  her  prayers. 


259 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

HEARTS    HYPOTHECATED 

THE  next  morning  at  the  proper  hour  I  started  for 
the  Sheraton  mansion.     This  time  it  was  not  my 
old  horse  Satan  that  I  rode.     My  mother  told  me 
that  Satan  had  been  given  over  under  the  blanket  chattel 
mortgage,  and  sold  at  the  town  livery  stable  to  some  pur 
chaser,  whom  she  did  not  know,  who  had  taken  the  horse  out 
of  the  country.     I  reflected  bitterly  upon  the  changes  in  my 
fortunes  since  the  last  time  I  rode  this  way. 

At  least  I  was  not  so  much  coward  as  to  turn  about.  So 
presently  I  rode  up  the  little  pitch  from  the  trough  road  and 
pulled  the  gate  latch  with  my  riding  crop.  And  then,  as 
though  it  were  by  appointment,  precisely  as  I  saw  her  that 
morning  last  spring — a  hundred  years  ago  it  seemed  to  me — 
I  saw  Grace  Sheraton  coming  down  the  walk  toward  me, 
tall,  thin.  Alas!  she  did  not  fill  my  eye.  She  was  elegantly 
clad,  as  usual.  I  had  liefer  seen  dress  of  skins.  Her  dainty 
boots  clicked  on  the  gravel.  A  moccasin  would  not. 

I  threw  my  rein  over  the  hook  at  the  iron  arm  of  the  stone 
gate  pillar  and,  hat  in  hand,  I  went  to  meet  her.  I  was  an 
older  man  now.  I  was  done  with  roystering  and  fighting, 
and  the  kissing  of  country  girls  all  across  the  land.  I  did 
not  prison  Grace  Sheraton  against  the  stone  gate  pillar  now, 
and  kiss  her  against  her  will  until  she  became  willing.  All  I 
did  was  to  lift  her  hand  and  kiss  her  finger  tips. 

260 


HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED 

She  was  changed.  I  felt  that  rather  than  saw  it.  If  any 
thing,  she  was  thinner,  her  face  had  a  deeper  olive  tint,  her 
eyes  were  darker.  Her  expression  was  gay,  feverish,  yet  not 
natural,  as  she  approached.  What  was  it  that  sat  upon  her 
face — melancholy,  or  fear,  or  sorrow,  or  resentment?  I  was 
never  very  bright  of  mind.  I  do  not  know. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you/'  she  said  to  me  at  length,  awk 
wardly. 

"And  I  to  see  you,  of  course."     I  misdoubt  we  both  lied. 

"It  is  very  sad,  your  home-coming  thus,"  she  added;  at 
which  clue  I  caught  gladly. 

"Yes,  matters  could  hardly  be  worse  for  us." 

"  Your  mother  would  not  come  to  us.  We  asked  her.  We 
feel  deeply  mortified.  But  now — we  hope  you  both  will 
come." 

"We  are  beggars  now,  Miss  Grace,"  I  said.  "I  need 
time  to  look  around,  to  hit  upon  some  plan  of  life.  I  must 
make  another  home  for  myself,  and  for " 

"For  me?"  She  faced  me  squarely  now,  eye  to  eye.  A 
smile  was  on  her  lips,  and  it  seemed  to  me  a  bitter  one,  but 
I  could  not  guess  what  was  hidden  in  her  mind.  I  saw  her 
cheek  flush  slowly,  deeper  than  was  usual  with  a  Sheraton 
girl. 

"For  my  wife,  as  soon  as  that  may  be,"  I  answered,  as  red 
as  she. 

"I  learn  that  you  did  not  see  Colonel  Meriwether,"  she 
went  on  politely. 

"How  did  you  know  it?" 

"Through  Captain  Orme." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  quietly,  "I  have  heard  of  Captain  Orme — 
much  of  him — very  much."  Still  I  could  not  read  her  face. 

261 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"He  was  with  us  a  long  time  this  summer,"  she  resumed, 
presently.  "Some  two  weeks  ago  he  left,  for  Charleston,  I 
think.  He  has  much  business  about  the  country." 

"Much  business,"  I  assented,  "in  many  parts  of  the  coun 
try.  But  most  of  all  with  men  of  the  Army.  So  Captain 
Orme — since  we  must  call  him  Captain  and  not  minister — 
was  so  good  as  to  inform  you  of  my  private  matters." 

"Yes."  Again  she  looked  at  me  squarely,  with  defiance. 
"I  know  all  about  it.  I  know  all  about  that  girl." 

So  there  it  was!  But  I  kept  myself  under  whip  hand  still. 
"  I  am  very  glad.  It  will  save  me  telling  you  of  myself.  It 
is  not  always  that  one  has  the  good  fortune  of  such  early 
messengers." 

"Go  on,"  she  said  bitterly,  "tell  me  about  her." 

"I  have  no  praises  to  sound  for  her.  I  do  not  wish  to 
speak  of  this,  if  you  prefer  to  hear  it  from  others  than  myself." 

She  only  smiled  enigmatically,  her  mouth  crooking  in 
some  confidence  she  held  with  herself,  but  not  with  me. 
"It  was  natural,"  she  said  at  last,  slowly.  "Doubtless  I 
would  have  done  as  she  did.  Doubtless  any  other  man 
would  have  done  precisely  as  you  did.  That  is  the  way 
with  men.  After  all,  I  suppose  the  world  is  the  world,  and 
that  we  are  as  we  are.  The  girl  who  is  closest  to  a  man  has 
the  best  chance  with  him.  Opportunity  is  much,  very 
much.  Secrecy  is  everything." 

I  found  nothing  which  suited  me  to  say;  but  presently  she 
went  on,  again  leaning  on  the  ivy-covered  stone  pillar  of  the 
gate,  her  hat  held  by  its  strings  at  her  side,  her  body  not  im 
prisoned  by  my  arms. 

"Why  should  you  not  both  have  done  so?"  she  resumed, 
bitterly.  "We  are  all  human." 

262 


HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED 

"Why  should  we  not  have  done  what — what  is  it  that  you 
mean?"  I  demanded  of  her. 

"Why,  there  was  she,  engaged  to  Mr.  Belknap,  as  I  am 
told;  and  there  were  you,  engaged  to  a  certain  young  lady 
by  the  name  of  Grace  Sheraton,  very  far  away.  And  you 
were  conveniently  lost — very  conveniently — and  you  found 
each  other's  society  agreeable.  You  kept  away  for  some 
weeks  or  months,  both  of  you  forgetting.  It  was  idyllic — 
ideal.  You  were  not  precisely  babes  in  the  woods.  You  were 
a  man  and  a  woman.  I  presume  you  enjoyed  yourselves, 
after  a  very  possible  little  fashion — I  do  not  blame  you — I 
say  I  might  have  done  the  same.  I  should  like  to  know  it  for 
a  time  myself — freedom!  I  do  not  blame  you.  Only,"  she 
said  slowly,  "in  society  we  do  not  have  freedom.  Here  it  is 
different.  I  suppose  different  laws  apply,  different  customs!" 

"Miss  Grace,"  said  I,  "I  do  not  in  the  least  understand 
you.  You  are  not  the  same  girl  I  left." 

"No,  I  am  not.  But  that  is  not  my  fault.  Can  not  a 
woman  be  free  as  much  as  a  man?  Have  I  not  right  as 
much  as  you?  Have  you  not  been  free?" 

"One  thing  only  I  want  to  say,"  I  rejoined,  "and  it  is 
this,  which  I  ought  not  to  say  at  all.  If  you  mean  anything 
regarding  Ellen  Meriwether,  I  have  to  tell  you,  or  any  one, 
that  she  is  clean — mind,  body,  soul,  heart — as  clean  as  when 
I  saw  her  first." 

"Do  you  know,  I  like  you  for  saying  that!"  she  retorted. 
"I  would  never  marry  a  man  who  knew  nothing  of  other 
women — I  don't  want  a  milksop;  and  I  would  not  marry  a 
man  who  would  not  lie  for  the  sake  of  a  sweetheart.  You 
lie  beautifully!  Do  you  know,  Jack,  I  believe  you  are  a  bit 
of  a  gentleman,  after  all! 

263 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

"  But  tell  me,  when  is  the  wedding  to  be?  "  This  last  with 
obvious  effort. 

"You  have  not  advised  me." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  meant  your  marriage  with 
Ellen  Meriwether.  I  supposed  of  course  you  had  quite  for 
gotten  me!" 

"  Ellen  Meriwether  is  already  married,"  I  said  to  her,  with 
a  calmness  which  surprised  myself.  But  what  surprised  me 
most  was  the  change  which  came  upon  her  face  at  the 
words — the  flush — the  gleam  of  triumph,  of  satisfaction.  I 
guessed  this  much  and  no  more — that  she  had  had  certain 
plans,  and  that  now  she  had  other  plans,  changed  with 
lightning  swiftness,  and  by  reason  of  my  words. 

"Lieutenant Lawrence  Belknapand  Miss  Ellen  Meriwether 
were  married,  I  presume,  some  time  after  I  started  for  the 
East,"  I  went  on.  "But  they  were  never  engaged  before  our 
return  to  the  settlements.  It  was  all  very  suddenly  arranged." 

"How  like  a  story-book!  So  he  forgot  her  little  incidents 
with  you — all  summer — side  by  side — day  and  night!  How 
romantic!  I  don't  know  that  I  could  have  done  so  much, 
had  I  been  a  man,  and  myself  not  guilty  of  the  same  incidents. 
At  least,  he  kept  his  promise." 

"There  had  never  been  any  promise  at  all  between  them." 

"Then  Captain  Orme  was  quite  mistaken?" 

"Captain  Orme  does  not  trouble  himself  always  to  be 
accurate." 

"At  least,  then,  you  are  unmarried,  Jack?" 

"Yes,  and  likely  to  be  for  some  years." 

Now  her  face  changed  once  more.  Whether  by  plan  of  her 
own  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  it  softened  to  a  more  gentle — shall 
I  say  a  more  beseeching  look?  Was  it  that  I  again  was  at 

264 


HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED 

her  side,  that  old  associations  awakened?  Or  was  it  because 
she  was  keen,  shrewd  and  in  control  of  herself,  able  to  make 
plans  to  her  own  advantage?  I  cannot  tell  as  to  that.  But  I 
saw  her  face  soften,  and  her  voice  was  gentle  when  she  spoke. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jack?"  she  asked. 

If  there  was  not  love  and  caress  in  her  tones,  then  I  could 
not  detect  the  counterfeit.  I  reiterate,  if  I  should  live  a 
thousand  years,  I  should  know  nothing  of  women,  nothing. 
We  men  are  but  toys  with  them.  As  in  life  and  in  sex  man 
is  in  nature's  plan  no  master,  no  chooser,  but  merely  an 
incident;  so,  indeed,  I  believe  that  he  is  thus  always  with  a 
woman — only  an  incident.  With  women  we  are  toys. 
They  play  with  us.  We  never  read  them.  They  are  the 
mystery  of  the  world.  When  they  would  deceive  us  it  is 
beyond  all  our  art  to  read  them.  Never  shall  man,  even  the 
wisest,  fathom  the  shallowest  depths  of  a  woman's  heart. 
Their  superiors?  God!  we  are  their  slaves,  and  the  stronger 
we  are  as  men,  the  more  are  we  enslaved. 

Had  it  been  left  to  my  judgment  to  pronounce,  I  should 
have  called  her  emotion  now  a  genuine  one.  Mocking, 
cynical,  contemptuous  she  might  have  been,  and  it  would 
have  suited  my  own  mood.  But  what  was  it  now  on  the 
face  of  Grace  Sheraton,  girl  of  a  proud  family,  woman  I  once 
had  kissed  here  at  this  very  place  until  she  blushed — kissed 
until  she  warmed — until  she 

But  now  I  know  she  changed  once  again,  and  I  know 
that  this  time  I  read  her  look  aright.  It  was  pathos  on  her 
face,  and  terror.  Her  eye  was  that  of  the  stricken  antelope 
in  dread  of  the  pursuer. 

"Jack,"  she  whispered,  "don't  leave  me!  Jack,  /  shall 
need  you!" 

265 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Before  I  could  resolve  any  questions  in  my  mind,  I  heard 
behind  us  the  sound  of  approaching  hoofs,  and  there  rode 
up  to  the  gate  her  brother,  Harry  Sheraton,  who  dismounted 
and  hitched  his  horse  near  mine,  saluting  me  as  he  pushed 
open  the  great  gate.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him 
since  my  return. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  he  asked.  "I'm  awfully  glad  to  see 
you,  Cowles — I  heard  below  you  were  home.  You've  had  a 
long  journey." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "longer  than  I  had  planned,  by  many 
weeks.  And  now  I  am  glad  to  be  back  once  more.  No — " 
in  answer  to  his  turning  toward  his  horse  as  though  he  would 
leave  us.  "You  are  looking  well,  Harry.  Indeed,  every 
thing  in  old  Virginia  is  good  to  see  again." 

"Wish  I  could  be  as  polite  with  you.  Have  you  been  sick? 
And,  I  say,  you  did  meet  the  savages,  didn't  you?  " 

I  knew  he  meant  the  scar  on  the  side  of  my  neck,  which 
still  was  rather  evident,  but  I  did  not  care  to  repeat  the  old 
story  again.  "Yes,"  I  answered  a  bit  shortly,  "rather  a  near 
thing  of  it.  I  presume  Captain  Orme  told  you?"  I  turned 
to  Miss  Grace,  who  then  admitted  that  she  had  heard  some 
thing  of  the  surgery  which  had  thus  left  its  mark.  Harry 
seemed  puzzled,  so  I  saw  it  was  news  to  him.  Miss  Grace 
relieved  the  situation  somewhat  by  turning  toward  the  house. 

"I  am  sure  you  will  want  to  talk  with  Jack,"  she  said  to 
him.  "And  listen,  Harry,  you  must  have  him  and  Mrs. 
Cowles  over  here  this  very  evening — we  cannot  think  of  her 
living  alone  at  the  old  place.  I  shall  send  Cato  down  with 
the  carriage  directly,  and  you  may  drive  over  after  Mrs. 
Cowles."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  me.  "At  dinner  to 
night,  then?" 

266 


HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED 

I  bowed,  saying  that  we  would  be  very  happy,  by  which 
I  meant  that  we  would  be  very  miserable. 

This,  then,  was  all  that  had  been  determined  by  my  visit. 
I  was  still  an  engaged  man.  Evidently  nothing  otherwise 
had  been  discussed  in  the  Sheraton  family  councils,  if  any 
such  had  been  held.  If  never  suitor  in  Old  Virginia  rode  up 
in  sorrier  case  than  mine  that  morning,  as  I  came  to  call  upon 
my  fiancee,  certainly  did  never  one  depart  in  more  uncertain 
frame  of  mind  than  mine  at  this  very  moment.  I  presume 
that  young  Sheraton  felt  something  of  this,  for  he  began 
awkwardly  to  speak  of  matters  related  thereto. 

"It's  awfully  hard,"  he  began,  "to  see  strangers  there  in 
your  own  house — I  know  it  must  be  hard.  But  I  say,  your 
father  must  have  plunged  heavily  on  those  lands  over  West 
in  the  mountains.  I've  heard  they're  very  rich  in  coal,  and 
that  all  that  was  necessary  was  simply  cash  or  credit  enough 
to  tide  the  deal  over  till  next  year's  crops." 

"My  father  always  said  there  was  a  great  fortune  in  the 
lands,"  I  replied.  "Yes,  I  think  another  year  would  have 
seen  him  through;  but  that  year  was  not  to  come  for  him." 

"But  couldn't  funds  be  raised  somehow,  even  yet?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "It  is  going  to  be  hard  in  these  times 
to  raise  funds  in  any  way.  Values  are  bad  now,  and  if  the 
Republican  party  elects  Lincoln  next  month,  there  will  be 
no  such  things  as  values  left  in  Virginia.  I  don't  see  how 
anything  can  save  our  property." 

"Well,  I'm  not  so  sure,"  he  went  on,  embarrassed.  "My 
father  and  I  have  been  talking  over  these  matters,  and  we 
concluded  to  ask  you  if  we  might  not  take  a  hand  in  this. 
At  least,  we  have  agreed  all  along  that — in  this  case  you  know 
— you  and  my  sister — we  have  planned  definitely  that  you 

267 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

should  live  in  your  old  place.  We're  going  to  take  that  over. 
The  redemption  time  has  plenty  of  margin,  and  we  can't 
allow  those  people  to  come  in  here  and  steal  one  of  the  old 
Virginia  places  in  that  way.  We  are  going  to  arrange  to 
hold  that  for  you  and  my  sister,  and  we  thought  that  perhaps 
in  time  something  could  be  worked  out  of  the  rest  of  the 
property  in  the  same  way.  That  is,  unless  Colonel  Meri- 
wether,  your  father's  partner,  shall  offer  some  better  solu 
tion.  I  suppose  you  talked  it  over  with  him?" 

"I  did  not  talk  with  him  about  it  at  all,"  said  I,  dully. 
For  many  reasons  I  did  not  care  to  repeat  all  of  my  story  to 
him.  I  had  told  it  often  enough  already.  "None  the  less, 
it  seems  very  generous  of  you  and  your  father  to  take  this 
interest  in  me.  It  would  be  very  churlish  of  me  if  I  did  not 
appreciate  it.  But  I  trust  nothing  has  been  done  as  yet " 

"You  trust  not?  Why,  Cowles,  you  speak  as  though  you 
did  not  want  us  to  do  it." 

"I  do  not,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  then " 

"You  know  our  family  well  enough." 

"That's  true.  But  you  won't  be  offended  if  I  suggest  to 
you  that  there  are  two  sides  to  this,  and  two  prides.  All  the 
country  knows  of  your  engagement,  and  now  that  you  have 
returned,  it  will  be  expected  that  my  sister  will  set  the  day 
before  long.  Of  course,  we  shouldn't  want  my  sister  to 
begin  too  far  down — oh,  damn  it,  Cowles,  you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"I  presume  so,"  said  I  to  him,  slowly.  "But  suppose  that 
your  sister  should  offer  to  her  friends  the  explanation  that 
the  change  in  my  fortunes  no  longer  leaves  desirable  this 
alliance  with  my  family?" 

268 


HEARTS  HYPOTHECATED 

"Do  you  suggest  that?" 

"I  have  not  done  so." 

"Has  she  suggested  it?" 

"We  have  not  talked  of  it,  yet  it  might  be  hard  for  your 
sister  to  share  a  lot  so  humble  and  so  uncertain." 

"That  I  presume  will  be  for  her  to  decide,"  he  said  slowly. 
"I  admit  it  is  a  hard  question  all  around.  But,  of  course,  in 
a  matter  of  this  kind,  the  man  has  to  carry  the  heavy  end  of 
the  log  if  there  is  one.  If  that  falls  to  you,  we  know  you  will 
not  complain." 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  hope  not." 

His  forehead  still  remained  furrowed  with  the  old  Shera 
ton  wrinkles.  He  seemed  uneasy.  "By  Jove,"  he  broke 
out  at  length,  flushing  as  he  turned  to  me,  "it  is  hard  for  a 
fellow  to  tell  sometimes  what's  right,  isn't  it?  Jack,  you 
remember  Jennie  Williams,  across  under  Catoctin?" 

I  nodded.  "I  thought  you  two  were  going  to  make  a 
match  of  it  sometime,"  I  said. 

"Prettiest  girl  in  the  valley,"  he  assented;  "but  her  family 
is  hardly  what  we  would  call  the  best,  you  know."  I  looked 
at  him  very  hard. 

"Then  why  did  you  go  there  so  often  all  last  year?"  I 
asked  him.  "Might  she  not  think " 

He  flushed  still  more,  his  mouth  twitching  now.  "Jack," 
he  said,  "it's  all  through.  I  want  to  ask  you.  I  ought  to 
marry  Jennie  Williams,  but " 

Now  I  looked  at  him  full  and  hard,  and  guessed.  Per 
haps  my  face  was  grave.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether 
there  was  one  clean  thing  in  all  the  world. 

"Oh,  she  can  marry,"  went  on  Harry.  "No  difficulty 
about  that.  She  has  another  beau  who  loves  her  to  dis- 

269 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

traction,  and  who  doesn't  in  the  least  suspect — a  decent  sort 
of  a  fellow,  a  young  farmer  of  her  own  class." 

"And,  in  your  belief,  that  wedding  should  go  on?" 

He  shifted  uneasily. 

"When  is  this  wedding  to  be?"  I  asked. 

" Oh,  -naturally,  very  soon,"  he  answered.  "I  am  doing 
as  handsome  a  thing  as  I  know  how  by  her.  Sometimes  it's 
mighty  hard  to  do  the  handsome  thing — even  mighty  hard  to 
know  what  is  the  handsome  thing  itself." 

"Yes,"  said  I.     But  who  was  I  that  I  should  judge  him? 

"If  you  were  just  where  I  am,"  asked  Harry  Sheraton, 
slowly,  "what  would  you  do?  I'd  like  to  do  what  is  right, 
you  know." 

"Oh  no,  you  don't,  Harry,"  I  broke  out.  "You  want  to 
do  what  is  easiest.  If  you  wanted  to  do  what  is  right,  you'd 
never  ask  me  nor  any  one  else.  Don't  ask  me,  because  I 
don't  know.  Suppose  you  were  in  the  case  of  that  other 
young  man  who  loves  her?  Suppose  he  did  not  know — or 
suppose  he  did  know.  What  would  be  right  for  him?" 

"Heavy  end  of  the  log  for  him,"  admitted  he,  grimly. 
"That's  true,  sure  as  you're  born." 

"When  one  does  not  love  a  girl,  and  sees  no  happiness  in 
the  thought  of  living  with  her  all  his  life,  what  squares  that, 
Harry,  in  your  opinion?" 

"I've  just  asked  you,"  he  rejoined.  "Why  do  you  ask 
me?  You  say  one  ought  to  know  what  is  right  in  his  own 
case  without  any  such  asking,  and  I  say  that  isn't  always 
true.  Oh,  damn  it  all,  anyway.  Why  are  we  made  the  way 
we  are?" 

"If  only  the  girl  in  each  case  would  be  content  by  having 
the  handsome  thing  done  by  her!"  said  I,  bitterly. 

270 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  UNCOVERING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

IT  IS  not  necessary  for  me  to  state  that  dinner  in  the 
Sheraton  hall,  with  its  dull  mahogany  and  its  shining 
silver  and  glass,  was  barely  better  than  a  nightmare  to 
me,  who  should  have  been  most  happy.  At  least  there  re 
mained  the  topic  of  politics  and  war;  and  never  was  I  more 
glad  to  plunge  into  such  matters  than  upon  that  evening.  In 
some  way  the  dinner  hour  passed.  Miss  Grace  pleaded  a 
headache  and  left  us ;  my  mother  asked  leave ;  and  presently 
our  hostess  and  host  departed.  Harry  and  I  remained  to 
stare  at  each  other  moodily.  I  admit  I  was  glad  when 
finally  he  announced  his  intention  of  retiring. 

A  servant  showed  me  my  own  room,  and  some  time  before 
midnight  I  went  up,  hoping  that  I  might  sleep.  My  long  life 
in  the  open  air  had  made  all  rooms  and  roofs  seem  confining 
and  distasteful  to  me,  and  I  slept  badly  in  the  best  of  beds. 
Now  my  restlessness  so  grew  upon  me  that,  some  time  past 
midnight,  not  having  made  any  attempt  to  prepare  for  sleep, 
I  arose,  went  quietly  down  the  stair  and  out  at  the  front  door, 
to  see  if  I  could  find  more  peace  in  the  open  air.  I  sat  down 
on  the  grass  with  my  back  against  one  of  the  big  oaks,  and  so 
continued  brooding  moodily  over  my  affairs,  confused  as 
they  had  now  become. 

By  this  time  every  one  of  the  household  had  retired.  I 
was  surprised,  therefore,  when  I  saw  a  faint  streak  of  light 

271 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

from  one  of  the  windows  flash  out  across  the  lawn.  Not 
wishing  to  intrude,  I  rose  quietly  and  changed  my  position, 
passing  around  the  tree.  Almost  at  that  instant  I  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  appear  from  the  shrubbery  and  walk  directly 
toward  the  house,  apparently  headed  for  the  window  from 
which  emerged  the  light. 

I  watched  him  advance,  and  when  I  saw  him  reach  the 
heavily  barred  trellis  which  ran  up  to  the  second  gallery,  I 
felt  confirmed  in  my  suspicion  that  he  was  a  burglar.  Ap 
proaching  carefully  in  the  shadow,  I  made  a  rapid  run  at 
him,  and  as  his  head  was  turned  at  the  time,  managed  to 
catch  him  about  the  neck  by  an  arm.  His  face,  thus  thrown 
back,  was  illuminated  by  the  flare  of  light.  I  saw  him 
plainly.  It  was  Gordon  Orme! 

The  light  disappeared.  There  was  no  cry  from  above. 
The  great  house,  lying  dark  and  silent,  heard  no  alarm.  I 
did  not  stop  to  reason  about  this,  but  tightened  my  grip  upon 
him  in  so  fell  a  fashion  that  all  his  arts  in  wrestling  could 
avail  him  nothing.  I  had  caught  him  from  behind,  and  now 
I  held  him  with  a  hand  on  each  of  his  arms  above  the  elbow. 
No  man  could  escape  me  when  I  had  that  hold. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  struggled  silently  with  all  his  power. 
At  length  he  relaxed  a  trifle.  I  stood  close  to  him,  slipped 
my  left  arm  under  his  left  along  his  back,  and  caught  his 
right  arm  in  my  left  hand.  Then  I  took  from  his  pocket  a 
pistol,  which  I  put  into  my  own.  I  felt  in  his  clothing,  and 
finally  discovered  a  knife,  hidden  in  a  scabbard  at  the  back 
of  his  neck.  I  drew  it  out— a  long-bladed,  ivory  thing  I 
found  it  later,  with  gold  let  into  the  hilt  and  woven  into  the 
steel. 

He  eased  himself  in  my  grip  as  much  as  he  could,  waiting, 

272 


THE  UNCOVERING   OF  GORDON  ORME 

as  I  knew,  for  his  chance  to  twist  and  grapple  with  me.  I 
could  feel  him  breathing  deeply  and  easily,  resting,  waiting 
for  his  time,  using  his  brains  to  aid  his  body  with  perfect 
deliberation. 

"It's  no  use,  Orme,"  I  said  to  him,  finally.  "I  can  wring 
your  neck,  or  break  your  back,  or  twist  your  arms  off,  and 
by  God!  I've  a  notion  to  do  them  all.  If  you  make  any  at 
tempt  to  get  away  I'm  going  to  kill  you.  Now  come  along." 

I  shoved  him  ahead  of  me,  his  arms  pinioned,  until  we 
found  a  seat  far  away  in  a  dark  portion  of  the  great  front 
yard.  Here  I  pushed  him  down  and  took  the  other  end  of 
the  seat,  covering  him  with  his  own  pistol. 

"Now,"  I  demanded,  "tell  me  what  you  are  doing  here." 

"You  have  your  privilege  at  guessing,"  he  sneered,  in  his 
easy,  mocking  way.  "Have  you  never  taken  a  little  adven 
ture  of  this  sort  yourself?" 

"Ah,  some  servant  girl — at  your  host's  house.  Excellent 
adventure.  But  this  is  your  last  one,"  I  said  to  him. 

"Is  it  so,"  he  sneered.  "Then  let  me  make  my  prayers  1" 
He  mocked  at  me,  and  had  no  fear  of  me  whatever. 

"In  Virginia  we  keep  the  shotgun  for  men  who  prowl 
around  houses  at  night.  What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask.     It  is  not  your  house." 

"There  was  a  light,"  said  I.  "For  that  reason  I  have  a 
right  to  ask.  I  am  a  guest,  and  a  guest  has  duties  as  well  as 
a  host." 

A  certain  change  in  mood  seized  him.  "If  I  give  you 
parole,"  he  asked,  "will  you  believe  me,  and  let  us  talk 
freely?" 

"Yes,"  said  I  at  length,  slowly.  "You  are  a  liar;  but  I 
do  not  think  you  will  break  parole." 

273 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"You  gauge  me  with  perfect  accuracy,"  he  answered. 
"  That  is  why  I  wish  to  talk." 

I  threw  the  pistol  on  the  seat  between  us.  "What  is  it 
you  want  to  know,"  I  asked.  "And  again  I  ask  you,  why 
are  you  here,  when  you  are  supposed  to  be  in  South  Caro 
lina?" 

"I  have  business  here.  You  cost  me  my  chance  out  there 
in  the  West,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "In  turn  I  cost  you 
your  chance  there.  I  shall  cost  you  other  things  here.  I 
said  you  should  pay  my  debt."  He  motioned  toward  my 
neck  with  his  slim  finger. 

"Yes,  you  saved  my  life,"  I  said,  "and  I  have  hated  you 
for  that  ever  since." 

"Will  you  make  me  one  promise?"  he  asked. 

"Perhaps,  but  not  in  advance." 

"And  will  you  keep  it?" 

"If  I  make  it." 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  do  one  thing  you  have  already 
promised  to  do?" 

"Orme,  I  am  in  no  mood  to  sit  here  and  gossip  like  an 
old  woman." 

"  Oh,  don't  cut  up  ugly.  You're  done  out  of  it  all  around, 
in  any  case.  Belknap,  it  seems,  was  to  beat  both  you  and 
me.  Then  why  should  not  you  and  I  try  to  forget?  But 
now  as  to  this  little  promise.  I  was  only  going  to  ask  you 
to  do  as  much  as  Belknap,  or  less." 

"Very  well,  then." 

"I  want  you  to  promise  to  marry  Grace  Sheraton." 

I  laughed  in  his  face.  "I  thought  you  knew  me  better 
than  that,  Orme.  I'll  attend  to  my  own  matters  for  myself. 
I  shall  not  even  ask  you  why  you  want  so  puerile  a  promise. 

274 


THE  UNCOVERING  OF  GORDON   ORME 

I  am  much  of  a  mind  to  shoot  you.  Tell  me,  who  are  you, 
and  what  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing  in  this  country?" 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?"  he  smiled. 

"  Assuredly  I  do.     I  demand  it." 

"I  believe  I  will  tell  you,  then,"  he  said  quietly.  He  mused 
for  a  time  before  he  raised  his  head  and  went  on. 

"I  am  Charles  Gordon  Orme,  Marquis  of  Bute  and  Rayne. 
Once  I  lived  in  England.  For  good  reasons  I  have  since 
lived  elsewhere.  I  am  what  is  known  as  a  black  sheep — a 
very,  very  black  one." 

"Yes,  you  are  a  retrograde,  a  renegade,  a  blackguard  and 
a  murderer,"  I  said  to  him,  calmly. 

"All  of  those  things,  and  much  more,"  he  admitted,  cheer 
fully  and  calmly.  "I  am  two  persons,  or  more  than  two.  I 
can't  in  the  least  make  all  this  plain  to  you  in  your  grade  of 
intelligence.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  exchangeable  per 
sonalities?" 

"I  have  heard  of  double  personalities,  and  double  lives," 
I  said,  "but  I  have  never  admired  them." 

"We  will  waive  your  admiration.  Let  me  say  that  I  can 
exchange  my  personality.  The  Jews  used  to  say  that  men 
of  certain  mentality  were  possessed  of  a  devil.  I  only  say 
that  I  was  a  student  in  India.  One  phrase  is  good  as  an 
other.  The  Swami  Hamadata  was  my  teacher." 

"It  would  have  been  far  better  for  you  had  you  never 
known  him,  and  better  for  many  others,"  was  my  answer  to 
his  astonishing  discourse. 

"  Perhaps;  but  I  am  only  explaining  as  you  have  requested. 
I  am  a  Raja  Yogi.  I  have  taken  the  eight  mystic  steps. 
For  years,  even  here  in  this  country,  I  have  kept  up  the  sacred 
exercises  of  breath,  of  posture,  of  thought." 

275 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"All  that  means  nothing  to  me,"  I  admitted  simply. 

"  No,  it  means  nothing  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  have  learned 
Yama,  Niyama,  Asana,  Pranayama,  Pratyahara,  Dharana, 
Dyhana  and  Samadhi!  Yes,  I  was  something  of  an  adept 
once.  I  learned  calm,  meditation,  contemplation,  intro 
spection,  super-conscious  reasoning — how  to  cast  my  own 
mind  to  a  distance,  how  to  bring  other  minds  close  up  to  me. 
But," — he  smiled  with  all  his  old  mockery — "mostly  I  failed 
on  Pratyahara,  which  says  the  senses  must  be  quelled,  sub 
dued  and  set  aside!  All  religions  are  alike  to  me,  but  they 
must  not  intrude  on  my  own  religion.  I'd  liefer  die  than 
not  enjoy.  My  religion,  I  say,  is  to  play  the  great  games — 
to  adventure,  and  above  all,  to  enjoy !  That  is  why  I  am  in 
this  country,  also  why  I  am  in  these  grounds  to-night." 

"You  are  playing  some  deeper  game  than  I  know?" 

"I  always  am!  How  could  you  be  expected  to  understand 
what  it  took  me  years  to  learn?  But  I  suppose  in  your  case 
you  need  a  few  practical  and  concrete  proofs.  Let  me  show 
you  a  few  things.  Here,  put  your  hand  on  my  heart." 

I  obeyed.  "You  feel  it  beat?"  he  said.  "Now  it  stops 
beating,  does  it  not?"  And  as  I  live,  it  had  stopped! 

"Feel  on  the  opposite  side,"  he  commanded.  I  did  so, 
and  there  was  his  heart,  clear  across  his  body,  and  beating 
as  before!  "Now  I  shall  stop  it  again,"  he  remarked, 
calmly.  And  I  swear  it  did  stop,  and  resumed  when  he 
liked! 

"Put  your  hand  upon  my  abdomen,"  he  said.  I  did  so. 
All  at  once  his  body  seemed  thin  and  empty,  as  a  spent 
cocoon. 

"I  draw  all  the  organs  into  the  thorax,"  he  explained. 
"When  one  has  studied  under  the  Swami,  as  I  have,  he  gains 

276 


THE  UNCOVERING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

control  over  all  his  different  muscles,  voluntary  and  involun 
tary.  He  can,  to  a  great  extent,  cut  off  or  increase  the  nerve 
force  in  any  muscle.  Simple  tricks  in  magic  become  easy  to 
him.  He  gains,  as  you  may  suppose,  a  certain  influence  over 
men,  and  more  especially  over  women,  if  that  be  a  part  of 
his  religion.  It  was  not  with  the  Swami.  It  is  with  me!" 

"You  are  a  strange  man,  Orme,"  I  said,  drawing  a  long 
breath.  "The  most  dangerous  man,  the  most  singular,  the 
most  immoral  I  ever  knew." 

"No,"  he  said,  reaching  for  his  cigar  case,  "I  was  only 
born  without  what  you  call  morals.  They  are  not  necessary 
in  abstruse  thought.  Yet  in  some  ways  I  retain  the  old 
influences  of  my  own  country.  For  instance,  I  lie  as  readily 
as  I  speak  the  truth,  because  it  is  more  convenient;  but 
though  I  am  a  liar,  I  do  not  break  my  word  of  honor.  I  am 
a  renegade,  but  I  am  still  an  English  officer!  You  have 
caught  that  distinction." 

"Yes,  I  would  trust  you,"  I  said,  "if  you  gave  me  your 
word  of  honor." 

He  turned  full  upon  me.  "By  Jove,  old  chap,"  he  said, 
with  a  queer  note  in  his  voice,  "you  touch  me  awfully  close. 
You're  like  men  of  my  own  family — you  stir  something  in  me 
that  I  used  to  know.  The  word  of  a  fighting  man — that's 
the  same  for  yours  and  mine;  and  that's  why  I've  always 
admired  you.  That's  the  sort  of  man  that  wins  with  the 
best  sort  of  women." 

"You  were  not  worth  the  best  sort  of  woman,"  I  said  to 
him.  "You  had  no  chance  with  Ellen  Meriwether." 

"No,  but  at  least  every  fellow  is  worth  his  own  fight  with 
himself.  I  wanted  to  be  a  gentleman  once  more.  Oh,  a 
man  may  mate  with  a  woman  of  any  color — he  does,  all  over 

277 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

the  world.  He  may  find  a  mistress  in  any  nationality  of 
his  own  color,  or  a  wife  in  any  class  similar  to  his  own — he 
does,  all  over  the  world.  But  a  sweetheart,  and  a  wife,  and  a 
woman — when  a  fellow  even  like  myself  finds  himself  hon 
estly  gone  like  that — when  he  begins  to  fight  inside  himself, 
old  India  against  old  England,  renegade  against  gentleman — 
I  say,  that's  awfully  bitter — when  he  sees  the  other  fellow 
win.  You  won " 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  did  not  win.  You  know  that  perfectly 
well.  There  is  no  way  in  the  world  that  I  can  win.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  keep  parole — well,  with  myself,  I  suppose." 

"You  touch  me  awfully  close,"  he  mused  again.  "You 
play  big  and  fair.  You're  a  fighting  man  and  a  gentleman 
and — excuse  me,  but  it's  true — an  awful  ass  all  in  one. 
You're  such  an  ass  I  almost  hesitate  to  play  the  game  with 
you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  I.  "But  now  take  a  very  stupid  fel 
low's  advice.  Leave  this  country,  and  don't  be  seen  about 
here  again,  for  if  so,  you  will  be  killed." 

"Precisely,"  he  admitted.  "In  fact,  I  was  just  intending 
to  arrange  a  permanent  departure.  That  was  why  I  was 
asking  you  to  promise  me  to — in  short,  to  keep  your  own 
promise.  There's  going  to  be  war  next  spring.  The  dreams 
of  this  strange  new  man  Lincoln,  out  in  the  West,  are  going 
to  come  true — there  will  be  catastrophies  here.  That  is  why 
I  am  here.  War,  one  of  the  great  games,  is  something  that 
one  must  sometimes  cross  the  globe  to  play.  I  will  be  here 
to  have  a  hand  in  this  one." 

"You  have  had  much  of  a  hand  in  it  already,"  I  haz 
arded.  He  smiled  frankly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "one  must  live.     I  admit  I  have  been 

278 


THE  UNCOVERING  OF  GORDON   ORME 

what  you  call  a  secret  agent.  There  is  much  money  behind 
me,  big  politics,  big  commercial  interests.  I  love  the  big 
games,  and  my  game  and  my  task — my  duty  to  my  masters, 
has  been  to  split  this  country  along  a  clean  line  from  east  to 
west,  from  ocean  to  ocean — to  make  two  countries  of  it! 
You  will  see  that  happen,  my  friend." 

"No  one  will  ever  see  it  happen,"  I  said  to  him,  soberly. 

" Under  which  flag,  then,  for  you?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"The  flag  you  saw  on  the  frontier,  Orme,"  I  answered 
him.  "That  is  the  flag  of  America,  and  will  be.  The 
frontier  is  free.  It  will  make  America  free  forever." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "the  argument  will  be  obvious 
enough  by  next  spring — in  April,  I  should  guess.  And  what 
ever  you  or  I  may  think,  the  game  will  be  big,  very  big — the 
biggest  until  you  have  your  real  war  between  black  and 
white,  and  your  yet  bigger  one  between  yellow  and  white. 
I  imagine  old  England  will  be  in  that  with  you,  or  with  one 
of  you,  if  you  make  two  countries  here.  But  I  may  be  a 
wandering  Jew  on  some  other  planet  before  that  time." 

He  sat  for  a  time,  his  chin  dropped  on  his  breast.  Finally 
he  reached  me  his  hand. 

"Let  me  go,"  he  said.     "I  promise  you  to  leave." 

"To  leave  the  State?" 

"No,  I  will  not  promise  that." 

"To  leave  the  County?" 

"Yes,  unless  war  should  bring  me  here  in  the  course  of 
my  duty.  But  I  will  promise  to  leave  this  town,  this  residence 
— this  girl — in  short,  I  must  do  that.  And  you  are  such  an 
ass  that  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  promise  to  keep  your 
promise — up  there."  He  motioned  toward  the  window 
where  the  light  lately  had  been. 

279 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"You  do  not  ask  that  now?"  I  queried. 

"You  are  a  fighting  man,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "Let  all 
these  questions  answer  themselves  when  their  time  comes. 
After  all,  I  suppose  a  woman  is  a  woman  in  the  greatest  of 
the  games,  and  one  takes  one's  chances.  Suppose  we  leave 
the  debt  unsettled  until  we  meet  some  time?  You  know,  you 
may  be  claiming  debt  of  me." 

"Will  you  be  ready?"  I  asked  him. 

"Always.  You  know  that.  Now,  may  I  go?  Is  my 
parole  ended?" 

"It  ends  at  the  gate,"  I  said  to  him,  and  handed  him  his 
pistol.  The  knife  I  retained,  forgetfully;  but  when  I  turned 
to  offer  it  to  him  he  was  gone. 


280 


CHAPTER   XL 

A  CONFUSION  IN  COVENANTS 

DURING   the   next   morning  Harry   Sheraton   gal 
loped  down  to  the  village  after  the  morning's  mail. 
On  his  return  he  handed  me  two  letters.     One  was 
from  Captain  Matthew  Stevenson,  dated  at  Fort  Henry,  and 
informed  me  that  he  had  been  transferred  to  the  East  from 
Jefferson  Barracks,   in  company  with  other  officers.     He 
hinted  at  many  changes  in  the  disposition  of  the  Army  of 
late.     His  present  purpose  in  writing,  as  he  explained,  was  to 
promise  us  that,  in  case  he  came  our  way,  he  would  certainly 
look  us  up. 

This  letter  I  put  aside  quickly,  for  the  other  seemed  to 
me  to  have  a  more  immediate  importance.  I  glanced  it  over, 
and  presently  found  occasion  to  request  a  word  or  so  with 
Colonel  Sheraton.  We  withdrew  to  his  library,  and  then  I 
handed  him  the  letter. 

"This,"  I  explained,  "is  from  Jennings  &  Jennings,  my 
father's  agents  at  Huntington,  on  whose  advice  he  went  into 
his  coal  speculations." 

"I  see.  Their  advice  seems  to  have  been  rather  dis 
astrous." 

"At  first  it  seemed  so,"  I  answered,  "but  now  they  advise 
me  by  no  means  to  allow  foreclosure  to  be  completed  if  it 
can  be  avoided.  The  lands  are  worth  many  times  the  price 
paid  for  them." 

281 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"I  see — and  they  have  some  sort  of  an  offer  as  well — eh?" 

"A  half  loaf  is  better  than  no  bread,"  I  assented.  "I 
think  I  ought  to  go  out  there  and  examine  all  this  in 
detail." 

"But  one  thing  I  don't  understand  about  this,"  began 
Colonel  Sheraton,  "your  father's  partner,  Colonel  Meri- 
wether,  was  on  joint  paper  with  him.  What  did  he  say  to 
you  when  you  saw  him?" 

"Nothing,"  I  replied.     "We  did  not  discuss  the  matter." 

"What?  That  was  the  sole  reason  why  you  went  out  to 
see  him!" 

"  Other  matters  came  up,"  said  I.  "  This  was  not  brought 
up  at  all  between  us." 

Colonel  Sheraton  looked  at  me  keenly.  "I  must  admit, 
Mr.  Cowles,"  said  he,  slowly  weighing  his  words,  that  of  late 
certain  things  have  seemed  more  than  a  little  strange  to  me. 
If  you  will  allow  me  so  to  express  myself,  there  is  in  my  own 
house,  since  you  came,  a  sort  of  atmosphere  of  indefiniteness. 
Now,  why  was  it  you  did  not  take  up  these  matters  with 
Colonel  Meriwether?  Certainly  they  were  important  to  you; 
and  under  the  circumstances  they  have  a  certain  interest  to 
myself.  What  are  you  trying  to  cover  up?" 

"Nothing  from  you  of  a  business  nature,  sir;  and  nothing 
from  Miss  Grace  of  any  nature  which  I  think  she  ought  to 
know." 

He  turned  on  me  swiftly.  "Young  man,  what  do  you  pro 
pose  to  do  in  regard  to  my  daughter?  I  confess  I  have 
contemplated  certain  plans  in  your  benefit.  I  feel  it  is  time 
to  mention  these  matters  with  you." 

"It  is  time,"  I  answered.  "But  if  you  please,  it  seems  to 
me  Miss  Grace  and  I  should  first  take  them  up  together.  Has 

282 


A   CONFUSION  IN  COVENANTS 

she  spoken  to  you  in  any  way  that  might  lead  you  to  think 
she  would  prefer  our  engagement  to  be  broken? " 

"No,  sir.  There  has  only  been  a  vagueness  and  indefi- 
niteness  which  I  did  not  like." 

"Had  my  affairs  not  mended,  Colonel  Sheraton,  I  could 
not  have  blamed  any  of  you  for  breaking  the  engagement. 
If  conditions  prove  to  be  practically  the  same  now  as  then, 
it  is  she  who  must  decide  her  course  and  mine." 

"That  is  perfectly  honorable.  I  have  no  criticism  to 
offer.  I  have  only  her  happiness  at  heart." 

"Then,  if  you  please,  sir,  since  I  am  rather  awkwardly  sit 
uated  here,  I  should  like  very  much  to  see  Miss  Grace  this 
morning." 

He  bowed  in  his  lofty  way  and  left  me.  Within  a  half 
hour  a  servant  brought  me  word  that  Miss  Grace  would  see 
me  in  the  drawing-room. 

She  was  seated  in  a  wide,  low  chair  near  the  sunny  window, 
half  hid  by  the  leafy  plants  that  grew  in  the  boxes  there. 
She  was  clad  in  loose  morning  wear  over  ample  crinoline,  her 
dark  hair  drawn  in  broad  bands  over  the  temples,  half  con 
fined  by  a  broad  gold  comb,  save  two  long  curls  which  hung 
down  her  neck  at  either  side.  It  seemed  to  me  she  was  very 
thin — thinner  and  darker  than  ever.  Under  her  wide  eyes 
were  heavy  circles.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  and  it  lay 
cold  and  lifeless  in  my  own.  I  made  some  pleasant  talk  of 
small  matters  as  I  might,  and  soon  as  I  could  arrived  at  the 
business  of  the  letter  I  had  received. 

"Perhaps  I  have  been  a  little  hurried,  after  all,  in  classing 
myself  as  an  absolute  pauper,"  I  explained  as  she  read. 
"You  see,  I  must  go  out  there  and  look  into  these  things." 

"Going  away  again?"     She  looked  up  at  me,  startled. 

283 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"For  a  couple  of  weeks.  And  when  I  come  back,  Miss 
Grace " 

So  now  I  was  up  to  the  verge  of  that  same  old,  definite 
question. 

She  sat  up  in  the  chair  as  though  pulling  herself  together 
in  some  sudden  resolve,  and  looked  me  straight  in  the  face. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "why  should  we  wait?" 

'  To  be  sure,"  said  I.  "Only  I  do  not  want  you  to  marry 
a  pauper  if  any  act  of  my  own  can  make  him  better  than  a 
pauper  in  the  meantime." 

"You  temporize,"  she  said,  bitterly.  "You  are  not  glad. 
Yet  you  came  to  me  only  last  spring,  and  you " 

"I  come  to  you  now,  Miss  Grace,"  I  said. 

"Ah,  what  a  difference  between  then  and  now!"  she 
sighed. 

For  a  time  we  could  find  nothing  fit  to  say.  At  last  I  was 
forced  to  bring  up  one  thing  I  did  not  like  to  mention. 

"Miss  Grace,"  said  I,  seating  myself  beside  her,  "last 
night,  or  rather  this  morning,  after  midnight,  I  found  a  man 
prowling  around  in  the  yard." 

She  sprang  up  as  though  shocked,  her  face  gray,  her  eyes 
full  of  terror. 

"  You  have  told ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  My  father  knows  that 
Captain  Orme " 

It  was  my  own  turn  to  feel  surprise,  which  perhaps  I  showed. 

"I  have  told  no  one.  It  seemed  to  me  that  first  I  ought 
to  come  to  you  and  ask  you  about  this.  Why  was  Orme 
there?" 

She  stared  at  me.  "He  told  me  he  would  come  back 
some  time,"  she  admitted  at  length.  All  the  while  she  was 
fighting  with  herself,  striving,  exactly  as  Orme  had  done,  to 

284 


A  CONFUSION  IN  COVENANTS 

husband  her  powers  for  an  impending  struggle.  "You 
see,"  she  added,  "he  has  secret  business  all  over  the  country 
— I  will  own  I  believe  him  to  be  in  the  secret  service  of  the 
inner  circle  of  a  number  of  Southern  congressmen  and  busi 
ness  men.  He  is  in  with  the  Southern  circle — of  New  Or 
leans,  of  Charleston — Washington.  For  this  reason  he  could 
not  always  choose  his  hours  of  going  and  coming." 

"Does  your  father  know  of  his  peculiar  hours?" 

"I  presume  so,  of  course." 

"I  saw  a  light  at  a  window,"  I  began,  "whose  window  I 
do  not  know,  doubtless  some  servant's.  It  could  not  have 
been  a  signal?" 

"A  signal?  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  suspect  me  of 
putting  out  a  beacon  light  for  a  cheap  night  adventure  with 
some  man?  Do  you  expect  me  to  tolerate  that  sort  of  thing 
from  you?" 

"I  ask  you  to  tolerate  nothing,"  I  said.  "I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  suspecting  ladies.  But  I  ask  you  if  you  can  explain 
the  light  on  that  side  of  the  house." 

"Jack,"  she  said,  flinging  out  a  hand,  "forgive  me.  I 
admit  that  Captain  Orme  and  I  carried  on  a  bit  of  a  flirta 
tion,  after  he  came  back — after  he  had  told  me  about  you. 
But  why  should  that — why,  he  did  not  know  you  were 
here." 

"No,"  said  I,  dryly,  "I  don't  think  he  did.  I  am  glad 
to  know  that  you  found  something  to  amuse  you  in  my 
absence." 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  amusements  in  the  absence  of  each 
other,"  she  said  bitterly.  "Think  of  your  own.  But  when 
you  came  back,  it  was  all  as  it  was  last  spring.  I  could  love 
no  other  man  but  you,  Jack,  and  you  know  it.  After  all,  if 

285 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

we  are  quits,  let  us  stay  quits,  and  forgive,  and  forget — let  us 
forget,  Jack." 

I  sat  looking  at  her  as  she  turned  to  me,  pleading,  implor 
ing  in  her  face,  her  gesture. 

"  Jack,"  she  went  on,  "a  woman  needs  some  one  to  take 
care  of  her,  to  love  her.  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  me — 
you  wouldn't  throw  me  over  for  just  a  little  thing — when  all 
the  time  you  yourself " 

"The  light  shone  for  miles  across  the  valley,"  said  I. 

"Precisely,  and  that  was  how  he  happened  to  come  up,  I 
do  not  doubt.  He  thought  we  were  still  up  about  the  place. 
My  father  has  always  told  him  to  make  this  his  home,  and 
not  to  go  to  the  tavern.  They  are  friends  politically,  in  many 
ways,  as  you  know." 

"The  light  then  was  that  of  some  servant?" 

"  Certainly  it  was.  I  know  nothing  of  it.  It  was  an  acci 
dent,  and  yet  you  blame  me  as  though — why,  it  was  all  acci 
dent  that  you  met  Captain  Orme.  Tell  me,  Jack,  did  you 
quarrel?  What  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  Many  things.  He  is  no  fit  man  for  you  to  know,  nor  for 
any  woman." 

"Do  I  not  know  that?    I  will  never  see  him  again." 

"No,  he  will  never  come  back  here  again,  that  is  fairly 
sure.  He  has  promised  that;  and  he  asked  me  to  promise 
one  thing,  by  the  way." 

"What  was  that?" 

"To  keep  my  promise  with  you.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
you!  Why?" 

Infinite  wit  of  woman !  What  chance  have  we  men  against 
such  weapons?  It  was  coquetry  she  forced  to  her  face,  and 
nothing  else,  when  she  answered:  "So,  then,  he  was  hard 

286 


A  CONFUSION  IN  COVENANTS 

hit,  after  all!  I  did  not  know  that.  How  tender  of  him,  to 
wish  me  married  to  another  than  himself!  The  conceit  of 
you  men  is  something  wondrous." 

"Mr.  Orme  was  so  kind  as  to  inform  me  that  I  was  a  gen 
tleman,  and  likewise  a  very  great  ass." 

"Did  you  promise  him  to  keep  your  promise,  Jack?" 
She  put  both  her  hands  on  mine  as  it  lay  on  the  chair  arm. 
Her  eyes  looked  into  mine  straight  and  full.  It  would  have 
taken  more  imagination  than  mine  to  suspect  the  slightest 
flickering  in  their  lids.  "Jack,"  she  murmured  over  and 
over  again.  "I  love  you!  I  have  never  loved  any  other 
man." 

"So  now,"  I  resumed,  "I  have  come  to  you  to  tell  you  of 
all  these  things,  and  to  decide  definitely  and  finally  in  re 
gard  to  our  next  plans." 

"But  you  believe  me,  Jack?  You  do  promise  to  keep 
your  promise?  You  do  love  me?" 

"I  doubt  no  woman  whom  I  wed,"  I  answered.  "I  shall 
be  gone  for  two  or  three  weeks.  As  matters  are  at  this  mo 
ment  it  would  be  folly  for  either  of  us  to  do  more  than  let 
everything  stand  precisely  as  it  is  until  we  have  had  time  to 
think.  I  shall  come  back,  Miss  Grace,  and  I  shall  ask 
your  answer." 

"Jack,  I'm  sure  of  that,"  she  murmured.  "It  is  a  grand 
thing  for  a  woman  to  have  the  promise  of  a  man  who  knows 
what  a  promise  is." 

I  winced  at  this,  as  I  had  winced  a  thousand  times  at  simi 
lar  thrusts  unconsciously  delivered  by  so  many.  "No," 
said  I,  "I  think  Orme  is  right.  I  am  only  a  very  stupid 
ass." 

She  reached  out  her  hand.     I  felt  her  fingers  close  cold 

287 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

and  hard  on  mine,  as  though  loth  to  let  me  go.  I  kissed  her 
fingers  and  withdrew,  myself  at  least  very  glad  to  be  away. 

I  retired  presently  to  my  room  to  arrange  my  portman 
teaus  for  an  early  journey.  And  there,  filling  up  one-half 
of  the  greater  valise,  was  a  roll  of  hide,  ragged  about  its  edge. 
I  drew  it  out,  and  spread  it  flat  upon  the  bed  before  me, 
whitened  and  roughened  with  bone,  reddened  with  blood, 
written  on  with  rude  stylus,  bearing  certain  words  which  all 
the  time,  day  and  night,  rang,  yes,  and  sang,  in  my  brain. 

"/,  John  Cowles — I,  Ellen  Meriwether — take  thee,  for 
better ,  for  worse — till  death — "  I  saw  her  name,  E-l-l-e-n. 


288 


CHAPTER   XLI 

ELLEN  OR   GRACE 

PRESENTLY  once    more  I   departed.     My  mother 
also  ended  her  visit  at  Dixiana,  preferring  to  return 
to  the  quiet  of  her  two  little  whitewashed  rooms, 
and  the  old  fireplace,  and  the  sooty  pot-hooks  which  our 
people's  slaves  had  used  for  two  generations  in  the  past. 

As  to  what  I  learned  at  Huntington,  which  place  I  reached 
after  some  days  of  travel,  I  need  say  no  more  than  that  I  began 
to  see  fully  verified  my  father's  daring  and  his  foresight.  The 
matter  of  the  coal  land  speculation  was  proved  perfectly  feas 
ible.  Indeed,  my  conference  with  our  agents  made  it  clear 
that  little  remained  excepting  the  questions  of  a  partition  of 
interests,  or  of  joint  action  between  Colonel  Meriwether  and 
my  father's  estate.  The  right  of  redemption  still  remained, 
and  there  offered  a  definite  alternative  of  selling  a  part  of  the 
lands  and  retaining  the  remainder  clear  of  incumbrance.  We 
wrote  Colonel  Meriwether  all  these  facts  from  Huntington, 
requesting  his  immediate  attention.  After  this,  I  set  out  for 
home,  not  ill-pleased  with  the  outlook  of  my  material  affairs. 

All  these  details  of  surveying  and  locating  lands,  of  meas 
uring  shafts  and  drifts,  and  estimating  cubic  yards  in  coal, 
and  determining  the  status  of  tenures  and  fees,  had  occupied 
me  longer  than  I  had  anticipated.  I  had  been  gone  two 
days  beyond  a  month,  when  finally,  somewhat  wearied  with 
stage  travel,  I  pulled  up  at  Wallingford. 

289 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

As  I  approached  the  little  tavern  I  heard  much  laughing, 
talking,  footfalls,  hurrying,  as  men  came  or  went  on  one 
errand  or  another.  A  large  party  had  evidently  arrived  on  a 
conveyance  earlier  than  my  own.  I  leaned  against  the  front 
rail  of  the  tavern  gallery  and  waited  for  some  stable-boy  to 
come.  The  postmaster  carried  away  his  mail  sack,  the 
loungers  at  the  stoop  gradually  disappeared,  and  so  pres 
ently  I  began  to  look  about  me.  I  found  my  eyes  resting 
upon  a  long  figure  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery,  sitting  in 
the  shade  of  the  steep  hill  which  came  down,  almost  sharp 
as  a  house  roof,  back  of  the  tavern,  and  so  cut  off  the  evening 
sun.  It  was  apparently  a  woman,  tall  and  thin,  clad  in  a 
loose,  stayless  gown,  her  face  hid  in  an  extraordinarily  long, 
green  sun-bonnet.  Her  arms  were  folded,  and  she  was 
motionless.  But  now  and  then  there  came  a  puff  of  smoke 
from  within  the  caverns  of  the  sun-bonnet,  accompanied  with 
the  fragrant  odor  of  natural  leaf,  whose  presence  brooked  no 
debate  by  the  human  nose.  I  looked  at  this  stranger  again 
and  yet  again,  then  slowly  walked  up  and  held  out  my  hand 
No  one  in  all  the  world  who  could  counterfeit  Mandy  Mc- 
Govern,  even  so  far  away,  and  under  conditions  seemingly 
impossible  for  her  presence! 

Mandy's  pipe  well-nigh  fell  from  her  lips.      "Well,  good 
God  A'mighty!    If  it  ain't  you,  son!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  I  smiled. 

"They  told  me  you-all  lived  somewheres  around  here." 

"Aunt  Mandy,"  I  interrupted.     "Tell  me,  what  in  the 
world  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Why,  me  and  the  folks  just  come  down  to  look  around. 
Her  and  her  Pa  was  comin',  and  I  come,  too." 

"  Who  came  with  you,  Aunt  Mandy?" 

290 


ELLEN  OR  GRACE 

" Still  askin'  fool  questions  like  you  didn't  know!  Why, 
you  know  who  it  was.  The  Colonel's  ordered  to  jine  his 
rigiment  at  Fort  Henry.  Gal  come  along  o'  him,  o'  course. 
I  come  along  with  the  gal,  o'  course.  My  boy  and  my  hus 
band  come  along  with  me,  o'  course." 

"Your  son,  Andrew  Jackson?" 

"Uh-huh.  He's  somewheres  'round,  I  reckon.  I  see 
him  lickin'  a  nigger  a  few  minutes  ago.  Say,  that  boy's 
come  out  to  be  the  fightenest  feller  I  ever  did  see.  Him 
allowin'  he  got  that  there  Injun,  day  we  had  the  fight  down 
on  the  Platte,  it  just  made  a  new  man  out'n  him.  'Fore  long 
he  whupped  a  teamster  that  got  sassy  with  him.  Then  he 
taken  a  rock  and  lammed  the  cook  'cause  he  looked  like  he 
was  lafifm'  at  him.  Not  long  atter  that,  he  killed  a  Injun 
he  'lowed  was  crawlin'  'round  our  place — done  kilt  him  and 
taken  his  skulp  'fore  I  had  time  to  explain  to  him  that  like 
enough  that  Injun  was  plum  peaceful,  and  only  comin'  in 
to  get  a  loaf  o'  bread." 

" Bread?     Aunt  Mandy,  where  was  all  this?" 

"Where  d'ye  suppose  it  was  unlessen  at  our  hotel?  My 
man  and  me  seen  there  was  a  good  openin'  there  on  the  trail 
this  side  o'  the  south  fork,  and  we  set  up  a  hotel  in  a  dug 
out.  Them  emigrants  would  give  you  anything  you  aste  for 
a  piece  of  pie,  or  a  real  baked  loaf  o'  bread.  We  may  go 
back  there  some  time.  We  could  make  our  pile  in  a  couple 
o'  years.  I  got  over  three  hundred  dollars  right  here  in  my 
pocket." 

"But  I  don't  quite  understand  about  the  man — your  hus 
band " 

"Yep,  my  lastest  one.  Didn't  you  know  I  married  ole 
man  Auberry?  He's  'round  here  somewheres,  lookin'  fer 

291 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

a  drink  o'  licker,  I  reckon.  Colonel  Meriwether  'lowed 
there' d  be  some  fightin'  'round  these  parts  afore  long.  My 
man  and  my  son  'lowed  the  West  was  gettin'  right  quiet  for 
them,  and  they'd  just  take  a  chanct  down  here,  to  see  a  little 
life  in  other  parts." 

"I  hadn't  heard  of  this  last  marriage  of  yours,  Aunt 
Mandy,"  I  ventured. 

"Oh,  yes,  me  and  him  hooked  up  right  soon  atter  you 
and  the  gal  got  lost.  Don't  see  how  you  missed  our  place 
when  you  come  East.  We  done  took  at  least  six  bits  off 'n 
every  other  man,  woman  or  child  that  come  through  there, 
east  or  west,  all  summer  long.  You  see  I  was  tired  of  that 
lazy  husband  o'  mine  back  home,  and  Auberry  he  couldn't 
see  nothin'  to  that  woman  o'  his'n  atter  he  found  out  how  I 
could  bake  pie  and  bread.  So  we  both  seein'  the  chanct 
there  was  there  on  the  trail,  we  done  set  up  in  business.  Say, 
I  didn't  know  there  was  so  many  people  in  the  whole  world 
as  they  was  of  them  emigrants.  Preacher  come  along  in  a 
wagon  one  day — broke,  like  most  preachers  is.  We  kep'  him 
overnight,  free,  and  he  merried  us  next  mornin'  for  nothin'. 
Turn  about' s  fair  play,  I  reckon." 

I  scarcely  heard  her  querulous  confidences.  "Where  is 
Colonel  Meriwether?"  I  asked  her  at  last. 

" Inside,"  she  motioned  with  her  pipe.  "Him  and  the  gal, 
too.  But  say,  who's  that  a-comin'  down  the  street  there  in 
that  little  sa wed-off  wagon?" 

I  looked.     It  was  my  fiancee,  Grace  Sheraton! 

By  her  side  was  my  friend,  Captain  Stevenson,  and  at  the 
other  end  of  the  seat  was  a  fluttering  and  animated  figure 
that  could  be  no  one  else  but  Kitty.  So  then  I  guessed  that 
Stevenson  and  his  wife  had  come  on  during  my  absence  and 

292. 


ELLEN  OR  GRACE 

were  visiting  at  Dixiana.  No  doubt  they  had  driven  down 
now  for  the  evening  mail. 

Could  anything  have  lacked  now  to  set  in  worse  snarl  my 
already  tangled  skein  of  evil  fortune!  Out  of  all  the  thou 
sand  ways  in  which  we  several  actors  in  this  human  com 
edy  might  have  gone  without  crossing  each  other's  paths, 
why  should  Fate  have  chosen  the  only  one  to  bring  us  thus 
together? 

Kitty  seemed  first  to  spy  me,  and  greeted  me  with  an 
enthusiastic  waving  of  her  gloves,  parasol,  veil  and  hand 
kerchief,  all  held  confusedly,  after  her  fashion,  in  one 
hand.  "P-r-r-r-t!"  she  trilled,  school-girl-like,  to  attract  my 
attention  meanwhile.  " Howdy,  you  man!  If  it  isn't  John 
Cowles  I'm  a  sinner.  Matt,  look  at  him,  isn't  he  old,  and 
sour,  and  solemn?" 

Stevenson  jumped  out  and  came  up  to  me,  smiling,  as  I 
passed  down  the  steps.  I  assisted  his  vivacious  helpmeet 
to  alight.  I  knew  that  all  this  tangle  would  presently  force 
itself  one  way  or  the  other.  So  I  only  smiled,  and  urged  her 
and  her  husband  rapidly  as  I  might  up  the  steps  and  in  at 
the  door,  where  I  knew  they  would  immediately  be  surprised 
and  fully  occupied.  Then  again  I  approached  Grace  Shera 
ton  where  she  still  sat,  somewhat  discomfited  at  not  being 
included  in  these  plans,  yet  not  unwilling  to  have  a  word  with 
me  alone. 

"You  sent  me  no  word,"  began  she,  hurriedly.  "I  was 
not  expecting  you  to-day ;  but  you  have  been  gone  more  than 
two  weeks  longer  than  you  said  you  would  be."  The  re 
proach  of  her  voice  was  not  lost  to  me. 

Stevenson  had  run  on  into  the  tavern  after  his  first  greeting 
to  me,  and  presently  I  heard  his  voice  raised  in  surprise,  and 

293 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Kitty's  excited  chatter.     I  heard  Colonel  Meriwether's  voice 
answering.     I  heard  another  voice. 

"Who  is  in  there?"  asked  Grace  Sheraton  of  me,  curi 
ously.  I  looked  her  slowly  and  fully  in  the  face. 

"It  is  Colonel  Meri wether,"  I  answered.  "He  has  come 
on  unexpectedly  from  the  West.  His  daughter  is  there  also, 
I  think.  I  have  not  yet  seen  her." 

"That  woman!"  breathed  Grace  Sheraton,  sinking  back 
upon  her  seat.  Her  eye  glittered  as  she  turned  to  me.  "  Oh, 
I  see  it  all  now — you  have  been  with  them — you  have  met  her 
again!  My  God!  I  could  kill  you  both— I  could— I  say  I 
could!" 

"Listen,"  I  whispered  to  her,  putting  a  hand  on  her  wrist 
firmly.  "You  are  out  of  your  head.  Pull  up  at  once.  I 
have  not  seen  or  heard  from  either  of  them.  I  did  not  know 
they  were  coming,  I  tell  you." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Cowles,"  sang  out  Stevenson,  at  that  moment 
running  out,  flushed  and  laughing.  "What  do  you  think, 
here's  my  Colonel  come  and  caught  me  at  my  leave  of  ab 
sence!  He's  going  across  the  mountains,  over  to  his  home 
in  Albemarle.  We're  all  to  be  at  Henry  together.  But  I 
suppose  you  met  them " 

"No,  not  yet,"  I  said.     "I've  just  got  in  myself." 

We  both  turned  to  the  girl  sitting  pale  and  limp  upon  the 
seat  of  the  wagonette.  I  was  glad  for  her  sake  that  the 
twilight  was  coming. 

The  courage  of  her  family  did  not  forsake  Grace  Sheraton. 
I  saw  her  force  her  lips  to  smile,  compel  her  face  to  brighten 
as  she  spoke  to  Captain  Stevenson. 

"I  have  never  met  any  of  the  Meri  wethers.  Will  you 
gentlemen  present  me?" 

294 


ELLEN  OR  GRACE 

I  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  at  that  time  a  servant  came 
and  stood  at  the  horse's  head.  Stevenson  stepped  back  to 
the  door,  not  having  as  yet  mentioned  my  presence  there. 

There  came  out  upon  the  gallery  as  he  entered  that  other 
whose  presence  I  had  for  some  moments  known,  whom  I 
knew  within  the  moment  I  must  meet — Ellen! 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  me.  She  stepped  back  with  a  faint 
exclamation,  leaning  against  the  wall,  her  hands  at  her 
cheeks  as  she  stared.  I  do  not  know  after  that  who  or  what 
our  spectators  were.  I  presume  Stevenson  went  on  into  the 
house  to  talk  with  Colonel  Meriwether,  whom  I  did  not  see 
at  all  at  that  time. 

The  first  to  speak  was  Grace  Sheraton.  Tall,  thin, 
darker  than  ever,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  now  with  eyes  which 
flickered  and  glittered  as  I  had  never  seen  them,  she  ap 
proached  the  girl  who  stood  there  shrinking.  "It  is  Miss 
Meriwether?  I  believe  I  should  know  you,"  she  began, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"This  is  Miss  Grace  Sheraton,"  I  said  to  Ellen,  and 
stopped.  Then  I  drew  them  both  away  from  the  door  and 
from  the  gallery,  walking  to  the  shadows  of  the  long  row  of 
elms  which  shaded  the  street,  where  we  would  be  less  ob 
served. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  saw  the  two  together  and 
might  compare  them.  Without  my  will  or  wish  I  found  my 
eyes  resting  upon  Ellen.  Without  my  will  or  wish,  fate, 
nature,  love,  I  know  not  what,  made  selection. 

Ellen  had  not  as  yet  spoken.  "Miss  Sheraton,"  I  re 
peated  to  her  finally,  "is  the  lady  to  whom  I  am  engaged  to 
be  married." 

The  vicious  Sheraton  temper  broke  bounds.    There  was 

295 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

more  than  half  a  sneer  on  my  fianceVs  face.  "I  should 
easily  know  who  this  lady  is,"  she  said. 

Ellen,  flushed,  perturbed,  would  have  returned  to  the  gal 
lery,  but  I  raised  my  hand.  Grace  Sheraton  went  on.  "An 
engagement  is  little.  You  and  he,  I  am  advised,  lived  as 
man  and  wife,  forgetting  that  he  and  I  were  already  pledged 
as  man  and  wife." 

"That  is  not  true!"  broke  in  Ellen,  her  voice  low  and  even. 
She  at  least  had  herself  in  hand  and  would  tolerate  no  vulgar 
scene. 

"I  could  not  blame  either  of  you  for  denying  it." 

"It  was  Gordon  Orme  that  told  her,"  I  said  to  Ellen. 

She  would  not  speak  or  commit  herself,  except  to  shake 
her  head,  and  to  beat  her  hands  softly  together  as  I  had  seen 
her  do  before  when  in  distress. 

"A  gentleman  must  lie  like  a  gentleman,"  went  on  Grace 
Sheraton,  mercilessly.  "I  am  here  to  congratulate  you 
both." 

I  saw  a  drop  of  blood  spring  from  Ellen's  bitten  lip. 

"What  she  says  is  true,"  I  went  on  to  Ellen.  "It  is  just 
as  Gordon  Orme  told  your  father,  and  as  I  admitted  to  you. 
I  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss  Sheraton,  and  I  am 
still  so  engaged." 

Still  her  small  hands  beat  together  softly,  but  she  would 
not  cry  out,  she  would  not  exclaim,  protest,  accuse.  I  went 
on  with  the  accusation  against  myself. 

"I  did  not  tell  you.  I  had  and  "have  no  excuse  except  that 
I  loved  you.  I  am  here  now  for  my  punishment.  You  two 
shall  decide  it." 

At  last  Ellen  spoke  to  my  fiancee.  "It  is  true,"  said  she. 
"I  thought  myself  engaged  to  Mr.  Cowles.  I  did  not  know 

296 


;<She  approached  the  girl  who  stood  there  shrinking" 
(seepage  295) 


ELLEN  OR  GRACE 

of  you — did  not  know  that  he  had  deceived  me,  too.     But 
fortunately,  my  father  found  us  before  it  was  too  late." 

"Let  us  spare  ourselves  details,"  rejoined  Grace  Sheraton. 
"He  has  wronged  both  of  us." 

"Yes,  he  has  done  wrong,"  I  heard  Ellen  say.  "Perhaps 
all  men  do — I  do  not  want  to  know.  Perhaps  they  are  not 
always  to  blame — I  do  not  want  to  know." 

The  measure  of  the  two  women  was  there  in  those  words, 
and  I  felt  it. 

"Could  you  want  such  a  man?"  asked  Grace  Sheraton, 
bitterly.  I  saw  Ellen  shake  her  head  slowly.  I  heard  her 
lips  answer  slowly.  "No,"  she  said.  "Could  you?" 

I  looked  to  Grace  Sheraton  for  her  answer,  and  as  I 
looked  I  saw  a  strange  and  ghastly  change  come  over  her 
face.  "My  God!"  she  exclaimed,  reaching  out  a  hand 
against  a  tree  trunk  to  steady  herself.  "Your  leavings?  No ! 
But  what  is  to  become  of  me!" 

"You  wish  him?"  asked  Ellen.  "You  are  entirely  free. 
But  now,  if  you  please,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  trouble 
you  both.  Please,  now,  I  shall  go." 

But  Grace  Sheraton  sprang  to  her  side  as  she  turned.  I 
was  amazed  at  her  look.  It  was  entreaty  on  her  face,  not 
anger!  She  held  out  her  hands  to  Ellen,  her  face  strangely 
distorted.  And  then  I  saw  Ellen's  face  also  change.  She 
put  out  her  hand  in  turn. 

"There,"   she  said,   "time  mends  very  much.     Let  us 

hope "     Then  I  saw  her  throat  work  oddly,  and  her 

words  stop. 

No  man  may  know  the  speech  with  which  women  exchange 
thought.  I  saw  the  two  pass  a  few  paces  apart,  saw  Grace 
Sheraton  stoop  and  whisper  something. 

297 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

It  was  her  last  desperate  resource,  a  hazard  handsomely 
taken.  It  won,  as  courage  should,  or  at  least  as  much  as  a 
lie  may  win  at  any  time ;  for  it  was  a  bitter,  daring,  desperate, 
shaming  lie  she  whispered  to  Ellen. 

As  Ellen's  face  turned  toward  me  again  I  saw  a  slow,  deep 
scorn  invade  it.  "If  I  were  free,"  she  said  to  me,  "if  you 
were  the  last  man  on  earth,  I  would  not  look  at  you  again. 
You  deceived  me — but  that  was  only  a  broken  word,  and 
not  a  broken  life!  This  girl — indeed  she  may  ask  what  will 
become  of  her!" 

"I  am  tired  of  all  these  riddles,"  I  broke  out,  my  own 
anger  now  arising,  and  myself  not  caring  to  be  made  thus 
sport  of  petticoats. 

"Your  duty  is  clear,"  went  on  my  new  accuser,  flashing 
out  at  me.  "If  you  have  a  trace  of  manhood  left,  then  let 
the  marriage  be  at  once — to-morrow.  How  dare  you  delay 
so  long!"  She  choked  in  her  own  anger,  humiliation,  scorn 
— I  know  not  what,  blushed  in  her  own  shame. 

Orme  was  right.  I  have  always  been  a  stupid  ass.  It 
took  me  moments  to  grasp  the  amazing  truth,  to  understand 
the  daring  stroke  by  which  Grace  Sheraton  had  won  her 
game.  It  had  cost  her  much.  I  saw  her  standing  there 
trembling,  tearful,  suffering,  her  eyes  wet.  She  turned  to 
me,  waiting  for  me  to  save  her  or  leave  her  damned. 

I  would  not  do  it.  All  the  world  will  say  that  I  was  a  fool, 
that  I  was  in  no  way  bound  to  any  abhorrent  compact,  that 
last  that  any  man  could  tolerate.  Most  will  say  that  I 
should  have  turned  and  walked  away  from  both.  But  I, 
who  have  always  been  simple  and  slow  of  wit,  I  fear,  and  per 
haps  foolish  as  to  certain  principles,  now  felt  ice  pass  through 
all  my  veins  as  my  resolution  came  to  me. 

298 


ELLEN   OR  GRACE 

I  could  not  declare  against  the  woman  who  had  thus  sworn 
against  me.  With  horror  I  saw  what  grotesque  injustice  was 
done  to  me.  I  broke  out  into  a  horrible  laughter. 

I  had  said  that  I  had  come  for  my  punishment,  and  here 
it  was  for  me  to  take.  I  had  told  Orme  that  one  day  I  would 
pay  him  for  my  life.  Here  now  was  Orme's  price  to  be 
paid!  If  this  girl  had  not  sinned  with  me,  she  had  done  so 
by  reason  of  me.  It  was  my  fault;  and  a  gentleman  pays 
for  his  fault  in  one  way  or  another.  There  seemed  to  me,  I 
say,  but  one  way  in  which  I  could  pay,  I  being  ever  simple 
and  slow  of  wit.  I,  John  Cowles,  without  thinking  so  far  as 
the  swift  consequences,  must  now  act  as  the  shield  of  the  girl 
who  stood  there  trembling,  the  girl  who  had  confessed  to  her 
rival  her  own  bitter  sin,  but  who  had  lied  as  to  her  accom 
plice  in  her  sin! 

"It  is  true,"  I  said,  turning  to  Ellen.  "I  am  guilty.  I 
told  you  I  deserved  no  mercy,  and  I  ask  none.  I  have  not 
asked  Miss  Sheraton  to  release  me  from  my  engagement.  I 
shall  feel  honored  if  she  will  now  accept  my  hand.  I  shall 
be  glad  if  she  will  set  the  date  early  as  may  be." 

Night  was  now  coming  swiftly  from  the  hills. 

Ellen  turned  to  pass  back  toward  the  door.  "Your  par 
don!"  I  exclaimed  to  Grace  Sheraton,  and  sprang  after 
Ellen. 

"Good-by,"  I  said,  and  held  out  my  hand  to  her.  "Let 
us  end  all  these  heroics,  and  do  our  best.  Where  is  your 
husband?  I  want  to  congratulate  him." 

"My  husband!"  she  said  in  wonder.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

Night,  I  say,  was  dropping  quickly,  like  a  shroud  spread 
by  a  mighty  hand. 

299 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"Belknap "  I  began. 

"Ah,"  she  said  bitterly.  "You  rate  me  low— as  low  as 
I  do  you!" 

"But  your  father  told  me  himself  you  two  were  to  be  mar 
ried,"  I  broke  out,  surprise,  wonder,  dread,  rebellion  now  in 
every  fiber  of  my  body  and  soul. 

"My  father  loves  me  dearly,"  she  replied  slowly.  "But 
he  cannot  marry  me  until  I  wish.  No,  I  am  not  married, 
and  I  never  will  be.  Good-by." 

Again  I  heard  my  own  horrible  laughter. 

Night  had  fallen  thick  and  heavy  from  the  mountains,  like 
a  dark,  black  shroud. 


300 


CHAPTER   XLH 

FACE  TO   FACE 

I  DID  not  see  Colonel  Meriwether.  He  passed  on 
through  to  his  seat  in  Albemarle  without  stopping  in 
our  valley  longer  than  over  night.  Part  of  the  next 
morning  I  spent  in  writing  a  letter  to  my  agents  at  Hunting- 
ton,  with  the  request  that  they  should  inform  Colonel  Meri 
wether  at  once  on  the  business  situation,  since  now  he  was 
in  touch  by  mail.  The  alternative  was  offered  him  of  taking 
over  my  father's  interests  through  these  creditors,  accepting 
them  as  partners,  or  purchasing  their  rights;  or  of  doing 
what  my  father  had  planned  to  do  for  him,  which  was  to 
care  individually  for  the  joint  account,  and  then  to  allot 
each  partner  a  dividend  interest,  carrying  a  clear  title. 

All  these  matters  I  explained  to  my  mother.  Then  I  told 
her  fully  what  had  occurred  at  the  village  the  night  previous 
between  Ellen  Meriwether  and  my  fiance'e.  She  sat  silent. 

"In  any  case,"  I  concluded,  "it  would  suit  me  better  if 
you  and  I  could  leave  this  place  forever,  and  begin  again 
somewhere  else." 

She  looked  out  of  the  little  window  across  our  pleasant 
valley  to  its  edge,  where  lay  the  little  church  of  the  Society  of 
Friends.  Then  she  turned  to  me  slowly,  with  a  smile  upon 
her  face.  "Whatever  thee  says,"  was  her  answer.  "I  shall 
not  ask  thee  to  try  to  mend  what  cannot  be  mended.  Thee 
is  like  thy  father,"  she  said.  "I  shall  not  try  to  change  thee. 

301 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

Go,  then,  thy  own  way.     Only  hear  me,  thee  cannot  mend 
the  unmendable  by  such  a  wrongful  marriage." 

But  I  went;  and  under  my  arm  I  bore  a  certain  roll  of 
crinkled,  hairy  parchment. 

This  was  on  the  morning  of  Wednesday,  in  November, 
the  day  following  the  national  election  in  the  year  1860. 
News  traveled  more  slowly  then,  but  we  in  our  valley  might 
expect  word  from  Washington  by  noon  of  that  day.  If 
Lincoln  won,  then  the  South  would  secede.  Two  nations 
would  inevitably  be  formed,  and  if  necessary,  issue  would  be 
joined  between  them  as  soon  as  the  leaders  could  formulate 
their  plans  for  war.  This  much  was  generally  conceded; 
and  it  was  conceded  also  that  the  South  would  start  in,  if  war 
should  come,  with  an  army  well  supplied  with  munitions  of 
war  and  led  by  the  ablest  men  who  ever  served  under  the 
old  flag — men  such  as  Lee,  Jackson,  Early,  Smith,  Stuart — 
scores  and  hundreds  trained  in  arms  at  West  Point  or  at  the 
Virginia  Military  Institute  at  Lexington — men  who  would 
be  loyal  to  their  States  and  to  the  South  at  any  cost. 

Our  State  was  divided,  our  valley  especially  so,  peace 
sentiment  there  being  strong.  The  entire  country  was  a 
magazine  needing  but  a  spark  to  cause  explosion.  It  was 
conceded  that  by  noon  we  should  know  whether  or  not  this 
explosion  was  to  come.  Few  of  us  there,  whether  Unionists 
or  not,  had  much  better  than  contempt  for  the  uncouth  man 
from  the  West,  Lincoln,  that  most  pathetic  figure  of  our 
history,  later  loved  by  North  and  South  alike  as  greatest  of 
our  great  men.  We  did  not  know  him  in  our  valley.  All 
of  us  there,  Unionists  or  Secessionists,  for  peace  or  for  war, 
dreaded  to  hear  of  his  election. 

Colonel  Sheraton  met  me  at  the  door,  his  face  flushed,  his 

302 


FACE   TO  FACE 

brow  frowning.  He  was  all  politics.  "Have  you  any 
news?"  he  demanded.  "Have  you  heard  from  Leesburg, 
Washington?" 

"Not  as  yet,"  I  answered,  "but  there  should  be  messages 
from  Leesburg  within  the  next  few  hours."  We  had  no 
telegraph  in  our  valley  at  that  time. 

"I  have  arranged  with  the  postmaster  to  let  us  all  know  up 
here,  the  instant  he  gets  word,"  said  Sheraton.  "If  that 
black  abolitionist,  Lincoln,  wins,  they're  going  to  fire  one 
anvil  shot  in  the  street,  and  we  can  hear  it  up  this  valley  this 
far.  If  the  South  wins,  then  two  anvils,  as  fast  as  they  can 
load.  So,  Mr.  Cowles,  if  we  hear  a  single  shot,  it  is  war — 
war,  I  tell  you! 

"But  come  in,"  he  added  hastily.  "I  keep  you  waiting. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  this  morning,  sir.  From  my  daughter  I 
learn  that  you  have  returned  from  a  somewhat  successful 
journey — that  matters  seem  to  mend  for  you.  We  are  all 
pleased  to  learn  it.  I  offer  you  my  hand,  sir.  My  daughter 
has  advised  me  of  her  decision  and  your  own.  Your  conduct 
throughout,  Mr.  Cowles,  has  been  most  manly,  quite  above 
reproach.  I  could  want  no  better  son  to  join  my  family." 
His  words,  spoken  in  ignorance,  cut  me  unbearably. 

"Colonel  Sheraton,"  I  said  to  him,  "there  is  but  one 
way  for  a  man  to  ride,  and  that  is  straight.  I  say  to  you, 
my  conduct  has  not  been  in  the  least  above  reproach,  and 
your  daughter  has  not  told  you  all  that  she  ought  to  have 
told." 

We  had  entered  the  great  dining  room  as  we  talked,  and 
he  was  drawing  me  to  his  great  sideboard,  with  hospitable 
intent  to  which  at  that  moment  I  could  not  yield.  Now, 
however,  we  were  interrupted. 

303 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

A  door  opened  at  the  side  of  the  room,  where  a  narrow 
stairway  ran  down  from  the  second  floor,  and  there  appeared 
the  short,  stocky  figure,  the  iron  gray  mane,  of  our  friend, 
Dr.  Samuel  Bond,  physician  for  two  counties  thereabout, 
bachelor,  benefactor,  man  of  charity,  despite  his  lancet,  his 
quinine  and  his  calomel. 

"Ah,  Doctor,"  began  Colonel  Sheraton,  "here  is  our 
young  friend  back  from  his  travels  again.  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  now,  as  I  think  I  may  without  much  risk,  that  there  is 
every  hope  the  Cowles  family  will  win  in  this  legal  tangle 
which  has  threatened  them  lately — win  handsomely,  too. 
We  shall  not  lose  our  neighbors,  after  all,  nor  have  any 
strangers  breaking  in  where  they  don't  belong.  Old  Vir 
ginia,  as  she  was,  and  forever,  gentlemen!  Join  us,  Doctor. 
You  see,  Mr.  Cowles,"  he  added  to  me,  "Doctor  Bond  has 
stopped  in  as  he  passed  by,  for  a  look  at  my  daughter.  Miss 
Grace  seems  just  a  trifle  indisposed  this  morning — nothing 
in  the  least  serious,  of  course." 

We  all  turned  again,  as  the  front  door  opened.  Harry 
Sheraton  entered. 

"Come,  son,"  exclaimed  his  father.  "Draw  up,  draw  up 
with  us.  Pour  us  a  drink  around,  son,  for  the  success  of 
our  two  families.  You,  Doctor,  are  glad  as  I  am,  that  I 
know." 

We  stood  now  where  we  had  slowly  advanced  toward  the 
sideboard.  But  Doctor  Bond  did  not  seem  glad.  He 
paused,  looking  strangely  at  me  and  at  our  host.  "Harry," 
said  he,  "suppose  you  go  look  in  the  hall  for  my  saddle 
bags — I  have  left  my  medicine  case." 

The  young  man  turned,  but  for  no  reason  apparently, 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  presently  joined  us  again. 

304 


FACE   TO  FACE 

"May  I  ask  for  Miss  Grace  this  morning,  Doctor,"  I 
began,  politely. 

"Yes,"  interjected  Colonel  Sheraton.  "How's  the  girl? 
She  ought  to  be  with  us  this  minute — a  moment  like  this,  you 
know." 

Doctor  Bond  looked  at  us  still  gravely.  He  turned  from 
me  to  Colonel  Sheraton,  and  again  to  Harry  Sheraton. 
"Harry,"  said  he,  sternly.  "Didn't  you  hear  me?  Get 
out!" 

We  three  were  left  alone.  "Jack,"  I  must  see  you  a  mo 
ment  alone,"  said  Doctor  Bond  to  me. 

"What's  up,"  demanded  Colonel  Sheraton.  "What's  the 
mystery?  It  seems  to  me  I'm  interested  in  everything 
proper  here.  What's  wrong,  Doctor?  Is  my  girl  sick?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  physician. 

"What's  wrong?" 

"She  needs  aid,"  said  the  old  wire-hair  slowly. 

"Can  you  not  give  it,  then?  Isn't  that  your  busi 
ness?" 

"No,  sir.  It  belongs  to  another  profession,"  said  Doctor. 
Bond,  dryly,  taking  snuff  and  brushing  his  nose  with  his 
immense  red  kerchief. 

Colonel  Sheraton  looked  at  him  for  the  space  of  a  full 
minute,  but  got  no  further  word.  "Damn  your  soul,  sir!" 
he  thundered,  "explain  yourself,  or  I'll  make  you  wish  you 
had.  What  do  you  mean?"  He  turned  fiercely  upon  me. 
"By  God,  sir,  there's  only  one  meaning  that  I  can  guess. 
You,  sir,  what's  wrong?  Are  you  to  blame?" 

I  faced  him  fairly  now.  "I  am  so  accused  by  her,"  I 
answered  slowly. 

"What!   What!"    He  stood  as  though  frozen. 

305 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"I  shall  not  lie  about  it.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to 
accuse  a  girl  of  falsehood.  I  only  say,  let  us  have  this  wed 
ding,  and  have  it  soon.  I  so  agreed  with  Miss  Grace  last 
night." 

The  old  man  sprang  at  me  like  a  maddened  tiger  now, 
his  eyes  glaring  about  the  room  for  a  weapon.  He  saw  it — 
a  long  knife  with  ivory  handle  and  inlaid  blade,  lying  on  the 
ledge  where  I  myself  had  placed  it  when  I  last  was  there. 
Doctor  Bond  sprang  between  him  and  the  knife.  I  also 
caught  Colonel  Sheraton  and  held  him  fast. 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "Wait!  Let  us  have  it  all  understood 
plainly.  Then  let  us  take  it  up  in  any  way  you  Sheratons 
prefer." 

"Stop,  I  say,"  cried  the  stern-faced  doctor — as  honest  a 
man,  I  think,  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life.  He  hurled  his 
sinewy  form  against  Colonel  Sheraton  again  as  I  released 
him.  "That  boy  is  lying  to  us  both,  I  tell  you.  I  say  he's 
not  to  blame,  and  I  know  it.  I  know  it,  I  say.  I'm  her 
physician.  Listen,  you,  Sheraton — you  shall  not  harm  a 
man  who  has  lied  like  this,  like  a  gentleman,  to  save  you  and 
your  girl." 

"Damn  you  both,"  sobbed  the  struggling  man.  "Let  me 
go!  Let  me  alone!  Didn't  I  hear  him — didn't  you  hear 
him  admit  it?  "  He  broke  free  and  stood  panting  in  the  cen 
ter  of  the  room,  we  between  him  and  the  weapon.  "Harry ! " 
he  called  out  sharply.  The  door  burst  open. 

"A  gun — my  pistol — get  me  something,  boy!  Arm  your 
self—we'll  kill  these " 

"Harry,"  I  called  out  to  him  in  turn.  " Do  nothing  of  the 
sort!  You'll  have  me  to  handle  in  this.  Some  things  I'll 
endure,  but  not  all  things  always — I  swear  I'll  stand  this  no 

306 


FACE   TO  FACE 

longer,  from  all  of  you  or  any  of  you.  Listen  to  me.  Listen, 
I  say — it  is  as  Doctor  Bond  says." 

So  now  they  did  listen,  silently. 

"I  am  guiltless  of  any  harm  or  wish  of  harm  to  any  woman 
of  this  family,"  I  went  on.  "Search  your  own  hearts.  Put 
r  blame  where  it  belongs.  But  don't  think  you  can  crowd  me, 
or  force  me  to  do  what  I  do  not  freely  offer." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Doctor  Bond.  "I  tell  you,  what  he  says 
could  not  by  any  possibility  be  anything  else  but  true.  He's 
just  back  home.  He  has  been  gone  all  summer." 

Colonel  Sheraton  felt  about  him  for  a  chair  and  sank  down, 
his  gray  face  dropped  in  his  hands.  He  was  a  proud  man, 
and  one  of  courage.  It  irked  him  sore  that  revenge  must 
wait. 

"Now,"  said  I,  "I  have  something  to  add  to  the  record. 
I  hoped  that  a  part  of  my  story  could  be  hid  forever,  except 
for  Miss  Grace  and  me  alone.  I  have  not  been  blameless. 
For  that  reason,  I  was  willing,  freely — not  through  force — 
to  do  what  I  could  in  the  way  of  punishment  to  myself  and 
salvation  for  her.  But  now  as  this  thing  comes  up,  I  can  no 
longer  shield  her,  or  myself,  or  any  of  you.  We'll  have  to 
go  to  the  bottom  now." 

I  flung  out  on  the  table  the  roll  which  I  had  brought  with 
me  to  show  that  morning  to  Grace  Sheraton— the  ragged 
hide,  holding  writings  placed  there  by  my  hand  and  that  of 
another. 

"This,"  I  said,  "must  be  shown  to  you  all.  Colonel  Sher 
aton,  I  have  been  very  gravely  at  fault.  I  was  alone  for  some 
months  in  the  wilderness  with  another  woman.  I  loved  her 
very  much.  I  forgot  your  daughter  at  that  time,  because  I 
found  I  loved  her  less.  Through  force  of  circumstances  I 

307 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

lived  with  this  other  woman  very  closely  for  some  months. 
We  foresaw  no  immediate  release.  I  loved  her,  and  she 
loved  me — the  only  time  I  knew  what  love  really  meant,  I 
admit  it.  We  made  this  contract  of  marriage  between  us. 
It  was  never  enforced.  We  never  were  married,  because 
that  contract  was  never  signed  by  us  both.  Here  it  is. 
Examine  it." 

It  lay  there  before  us.  I  saw  its  words  again  stare  up  at 
me.  I  saw  again  the  old  pictures  of  the  great  mountains, 
and  the  cloudless  sky,  and  the  cities  of  peace  wavering  on 
the  far  horizon.  I  gazed  once  more  upon  that  different  and 
more  happy  world,  when  I  saw,  blurring  before  my  eyes, 
the  words — "/,  John  Cowles — 7,  Ellen  Meriwether — take 
thee — take  thee — for  better,  for  worse — till  death  do  us  part.1' 
I  saw  her  name,  "E-l-l-e-n" 

" Harry,"  said  I,  turning  on  him  swiftly.  "Your  father  is 
old.  This  is  for  you  and  me,  I  think.  I  shall  be  at  your 
service  soon." 

His  face  paled.  But  that  of  his  father  was  now  gray, 
very  old  and  gray. 

" Treachery!"  he  murmured.  " Treachery!  You  slighted 
my  girl.  My  God,  sir,  she  should  not  marry  you  though  she 
died!  This — "  he  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  hide  scroll. 

"No,"  I  said  to  him.  "This  is  mine.  The  record  of  my 
fault  belongs  to  me.  The  question  for  you  is  only  in  regard 
to  the  punishment. 

"We  are  four  men  here,"  I  added,  presently,  "and  it 
seems  to  me  that  first  of  all  we  owe  protection  to  the  woman 
who  needs  it.  Moreover,  I  repeat,  that  though  her  error  is 
not  mine,  it  was  perhaps  pride  or  sorrow  or  anger  with  me 
which  led  her  to  her  own  fault.  It  was  Gordon  Orme  who 

308 


FACE   TO  FACE 

told  her  that  I  was  false  to  her,  and  added  lies  about  me  and 
this  other  woman.  It  was  Gordon  Orme,  Colonel  Sheraton, 
I  do  not  doubt — sir,  /  found  him  in  your  yard,  here,  at  mid 
night,  when  I  last  was  here.  And,  sir,  there  was  a  light— a 
light — "  I  tried  to  smile,  though  I  fear  my  face  was  only 
distorted.  "I  agreed  with  your  daughter  that  it  was  with 
out  question  a  light  that  some  servant  had  left  by  chance  at 
a  window." 

I  wish  never  to  hear  again  such  a  groan  as  broke  from  that 
old  man's  lips.  He  was  sunken  and  broken  when  he  put  out 
his  hand  to  me.  "Boy,"  said  he,  "have  mercy.  Forgive. 
Can  you — could  you " 

"Can  you  yourself  forgive  this?"  I  answered,  pointing  to 
the  scroll.  "I  admit  to  you  I  love  Ellen  Meriwether  yet, 
and  always  will.  Sir,  if  I  married  your  daughter,  it  could 
only  be  to  leave  her  within  the  hour." 

Silence  fell  upon  all  of  us.  Harry  set  down  his  glass,  and 
the  clink  on  the  silver  tray  sounded  loud.  None  moved  but 
Doctor  Bond,  who,  glasses  upon  nose,  bent  over  the  blurred 
hide,  studying  it. 

"Colonel  Sheraton,"  said  he  at  length,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  we  have  no  quarrel  here  among  ourselves.  We  all  want 
to  do  what  is  best  done  now  to  make  amends  for  what  has 
not  always  been  best  done.  Mr.  Cowles  has  given  every 
proof  we  could  ask — we  could  not  ask  more  of  any  man — you 
have  no  right  to  ask  so  much.  He  wishes,  at  great  cost  to 
himself,  I  think,  to  do  what  he  can  to  save  your  girl's  hap 
piness  and  honor.  He  admits  his  own  fault."  He  looked 
at  me,  savagely  shaking  a  ringer,  but  went  on. 

"Perhaps  I,  a  physician,  unfortunately  condemned  to  see 
much  of  the  inner  side  of  human  nature,  am  as  well  equipped 

309 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

as  any  to  call  him  more  guiltless  than  society  might  call  him. 
I  say  with  him,  let  him  who  is  without  guilt  first  cast  a  stone. 
Few  of  us  are  all  we  ought  to  be,  but  why?  We  speak  of 
double  lives — why,  we  all  lead  double  lives — the  entire 
world  leads  a  double  life;  that  of  sex  and  of  society,  that  of 
nature  and  of  property.  I  say  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  all 
the  world  is  double.  So  let  us  be  careful  how  we  adjudge 
punishment;  and  let  us  be  as  fair  to  our  neighbor  as  we  are 
to  ourselves.  This  is  only  the  old,  old  question  of  love  and 
the  law. 

"But  wait  a  minute — "  he  raised  a  hand  as  Colonel  Sher 
aton  stirred.  "  I  have  something  else  to  say.  As  it  chances, 
I  am  curious  in  other  professions  than  my  own  sometimes — 
I  read  in  the  law  sometimes,  again  in  theology,  literature.  I 
wish  to  be  an  educated  man  so  far  as  I  may  be,  since  a  uni 
versity  education  was  denied  me.  Now,  I  say  to  you,  from 
my  reading  in  the  law,  a  strong  question  arises  whether  the  two 
who  wrote  this  covenant  of  marriage  are  not  at  this  moment 
man  and  wi}e!"  He  rapped  a  finger  on  the  parchment. 

A  sigh  broke  in  concert  from  all  within  that  room.  The 
next  moment,  I  know  not  how,  we  were  all  four  of  us  bend 
ing  above  the  scroll.  "See  there,"  went  on  the  old  doctor. 
"There  is  a  definite,  mutual  promise,  a  consideration  moving 
from  each  side,  the  same  consideration  in  each  case,  the 
promise  from  each  bearing  the  same  intent  and  value,  and 
having  the  same  qualifying  clauses.  The  contract  is  definite ; 
it  is  dated.  It  is  evidently  the  record  of  a  unanimous  in 
tent,  an  identical  frame  of  mind  between  the  two  making  it 
at  that  time.  It  is  signed  and  sealed  in  full  by  one  party, 
no  doubt  in  his  own  hand.  It  is  written  and  acknowledged 

by  the  other  party  in  her  own  hand " 

310 


FACE   TO  FACE 

"But  not  signed!"  I  broke  in.  "See,  it  is  not  signed. 
She  said  she  would  sign  it  one  letter  each  week — weeks  and 
weeks — until  at  last,  this,  which  was  only  our  engagement, 
should  with  the  last  letter  make  our  marriage.  Gentlemen," 
I  said  to  them,  "it  was  an  honest  contract.  It  was  all  the 
formality  we  could  have,  all  the  ceremony  we  could  have. 
It  was  all  that  we  could  do.  I  stand  before  you  promised  to 
two  women.  Before  God  I  was  promised  to  one.  I  loved 
her.  I  could  do  no  more " 

"It  was  enough,"  said  Doctor  Bond,  dryly,  taking  snuff. 
"It  was  a  wedding." 

"Impossible!"  declared  Colonel  Sheraton. 

"Impossible?  Not  in  the  least,"  said  the  doctor.  "It 
can  be  invalid  only  upon  one  ground.  It  might  be  urged 
that  the  marriage  was  not  consummated.  But  in  the  courts 
that  would  be  a  matter  of  proof.  Whatever  our  young  friend 
here  might  say,  a  court  would  say  that  consummation  was 
very  probable. 

"I  say,  as  this  stands,  the  contract  is  a  definite  one,  agree 
ing  to  do  a  definite  thing,  namely,  to  enter  into  the  state  of 
marriage.  The  question  of  the  uncompleted  signature  does 
not  invalidate  it,  nor  indeed  come  into  the  matter  at  all.  It 
is  only  a  question  whether  the  signature,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
means  the  identity  of  the  Ellen  Meriwether  who  wrote  the 
clause  preceding  it.  It  is  a  question  of  identification  solely. 
Nothing  appears  on  this  contract  stipulating  that  she  must 
sign  her  full  name  before  the  marriage  can  take  place.  That 
verbal  agreement,  which  Mr.  Cowles  mentions,  of  signing  it 
letter  by  letter,  does  not  in  law  affect  a  written  agreement. 
This  written  contract  must,  in  the  law,  be  construed  just  as 
it  stands,  and  under  its  own  phrasing,  by  its  own  inherent 


THE  WAY  OF  A   MAN 

evidence.  The  obvious  and  apparent  evidence  is  that  the 
person  beginning  this  signature  was  Ellen  Meriwether — the 
same  who  wrote  the  last  clause  of  the  contract.  The  hand 
writing  is  the  same — the  supposition  is  that  it  is  the  same, 
and  the  burden  of  proof  would  lie  on  the  one  denying  it. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  went  on,  taking  a  turn,  hands  behind 
back,  his  big  red  kerchief  hanging  from  his  coat  tails,  "I 
take  Mr.  Cowles'  word  as  to  acts  before  and  after  this  con 
tract.  I  think  he  has  shown  to  us  that  he  is  a  gentleman. 
In  that  world,  very  different  from  this  world,  he  acted  like 
a  gentleman.  In  that  life  he  was  for  the  time  freed  of  the 
covenant  of  society.  Now,  in  this  life,  thrown  again  under 
the  laws  of  society,  he  again  shows  to  us  that  he  is  a  gentle 
man,  here  as  much  as  there.  We  cannot  reason  from  that 
world  to  this.  I  say — yes,  I  hope  I  am  big  enough  man  to 
say — that  we  cannot  blame  him,  arguing  from  that  world  to 
this.  We  can  exact  of  a  man  that  he  shall  be  a  gentleman  in 
either  one  of  those  worlds;  but  we  cannot  exact  it  of  him  to 
be  the  same  gentleman  in  both! 

"Now,  the  question  comes,  to  which  of  these  worlds  be 
longs  John  Cowles?  The  court  will  say  that  this  bit  of  hide 
is  a  wedding  ceremony.  Gentlemen,"  he  smiled  grimly, 
"we  need  all  the  professions  here  to-day — medicine,  minis 
try  and  law!  At  least,  Colonel  Sheraton,  I  think  we  need 
legal  counsel  before  we  go  on  with  any  more  weddings  for 
this  young  man  here." 

"But  there  is  no  record  of  this,"  I  said.  "There  is  no 
execution  in  duplicate." 

"No,"  said  the  doctor.  "It  is  only  a  question  of  which 
world  you  elect."  I  looked  at  him,  and  he  added,  "It  is 
also  only  a  question  of  morals.  If  this  record  here  should  be 

312 


FACE   TO  FACE 

destroyed,  you  would  leave  the  other  party  with  no  proof  on 
her  side  of  the  case." 

He  brushed  off  his  nose  again,  and  took  another  short  turn 
from  the  table,  his  head  dropped  in  thought.  "It  is  custo 
mary,"  he  said  as  he  turned  to  me,  "to  give  the  wife  the  wed 
ding  certificate.  The  law,  the  ministry,  and  the  profession 
of  medicine,  all  unite  in  their  estimate  of  the  relative  value 
of  marital  faithfulness  as  between  the  sexes.  It  is  the 
woman  who  needs  the  proof.  All  nature  shields  the  woman's 
sex.  She  is  the  apple  of  Nature's  eye,  and  even  the  law 
knows  that." 

I  walked  to  the  mantel  and  took  up  the  knife  that  lay  there. 
I  returned  to  the  table,  and  with  a  long  stroke  I  ripped  the 
hide  in  two.  I  threw  the  two  pieces  into  the  grate. 

"That  is  my  proof,"  said  I,  "that  Ellen  Meriwether  needs 
no  marriage  certificate!  I  am  the  certificate  for  that,  and 
for  her!" 

Colonel  Sheraton  staggered  to  me,  his  hand  trembling, 
outstretched.  "You're  free  to  marry  my  poor  girl — "  he 
began. 

"It  is  proof  also,"  I  went  on,  "that  I  shall  never  see 
Ellen  Meriwether  again,  any  more  than  I  shall  see  Grace 
Sheraton  again  after  I  have  married  her.  What  happens 
after  that  is  not  my  business.  It  is  my  business,  Colonel 
Sheraton,  and  yours — possibly  even  your  son's" — I  smiled 
at  Harry — "to  find  Gordon  Orme.  I  claim  him  first.  If 
I  do  not  kill  him,  then  you — and  you  last,  Harry,  because  you 
are  least  fit." 

"  Gentlemen,  is  it  all  agreed?  "  I  asked.  I  tossed  the  knife 
back  on  the  mantel,  and  turned  my  back  to  it  and  them. 

"Jack,"  said  my  old  wire-hair,  Doctor  Bond,  "I  pray 

313 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

God  I  may  never  see  this  done  again  to  any  man.  I  thank 
God  the  woman  I  loved  died  years  ago.  She  was  too  good 
— they're  all  too  good — I,  a  physician,  say  they  are  all  too 
good.  Only  in  that  gap  between  them  and  us  lies  any  mar 
gin  which  permits  you  to  lie  to  yourself  at  the  altar.  To 
care  for  them — to  shield  them — they,  the  apple  of  the  Eye — 
that  is  why  we  men  are  here."  He  turned  away,  his  face 
working. 

"Is  it  agreed?"  I  asked  of  Colonel  Sheraton,  sternly. 

His  trembling  hand  sought  mine.  "  Yes,"  he  said.  "Our 
quarrel  is  discharged,  and  more  than  so.  Harry,  shake 
hands  with  Mr.  Cowles.  By  God!  men,  our  quarrel  now 
runs  to  Gordon  Orme.  To-morrow  we  start  for  Carolina, 
where  we  had  his  last  address.  Mr.  Cowles,  my  heart 
bleeds,  it  bleeds,  sir,  for  you.  But  for  her  also — for  her  up 
there.  The  courts  shall  free  you  quickly  and  quietly,  as 
soon  as  it  can  be  done.  It  is  you  who  have  freed  us  all. 
You  have  been  tried  hard.  You  have  proved  yourself  a 
man." 

But  it  was  not  the  courts  that  freed  us.  None  of  us  ever 
sought  actual  knowledge  of  what  agency  really  freed  us. 
Indeed,  the  time  came  swiftly  for  us  all  to  draw  the  cloak  of 
secrecy  about  one  figure  of  this  story,  and  to  shield  her  in 
it  forever. 

Again  we  were  interrupted.  The  door  at  the  stair  burst 
open.  A  black  maid,  breathless,  broke  into  the  room. 

"She's  a-settin'  there — Miss  Grace  just  a-settin'  there — " 
she  began,  and  choked  and  stammered. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Doctor  Bond,  sharply,  and  sprang  at 
the  door.  I  heard  him  go  up  the  stairs  lightly  as  though  he 
were  a  boy.  We  all  followed,  plying  the  girl  with  questions. 

314 


FACE   TO  FACE 

"I  went  in  to  make  up  the  room,"  blubbered  she,  "an' 
she  was  just  settin'  there,  an'  I  spoke  to  her  an'  she  didn't 
answer — an'  I  called  to  her,  an'  she  didn't  answer — she's 
just  a-settin'  there  right  now." 

As  a  cloud  sweeps  over  a  gray,  broken  moor,  so  now  hor 
ror  swept  upon  us  in  our  distress  and  grief.  We  paused  one 
moment  to  listen,  then  went  on  to  see  what  we  knew  we  must 
see. 

I  say  that  we  men  of  Virginia  were  slow  to  suspect  a  woman. 
I  hope  we  are  still  slower  to  gossip  regarding  one.  Not  one 
of  us  ever  asked  Doctor  Bond  a  question,  fearing  lest  we 
might  learn  what  perhaps  he  knew. 

He  stood  beyond  her  now,  his  head  bowed,  his  hand 
touching  her  wrist,  feeling  for  the  pulse  that  was  no  longer 
there.  The  solemnity  of  his  face  was  louder  than  speech. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  his  silent  demand  that  we 
should  all  hold  our  peace  forever. 

Grace  Sheraton,  her  lips  just  parted  in  a  little  crooked 
smile,  such  as  she  might  have  worn  when  she  was  a  child,  sat 
at  a  low  dressing  table,  staring  directly  into  the  wide  mirror 
which  swung  before  her  at  its  back.  Her  left  arm  lay  at 
length  along  the  table.  Her  right,  with  its  hand  under  her 
cheek  and  chin,  supported  her  head,  which  leaned  but 
slightly  to  one  side.  She  gazed  into  her  own  face,  into  her 
own  heart,  into  the  mystery  of  human  life  and  its  double 
worlds,  I  doubt  not.  She  could  not  tell  us  what  she  had 
learned. 

Her  father  stepped  to  her  side,  opposite  the  old  doctor. 
I  heard  sobs  as  they  placed  her  upon  her  little  white  bed, 
still  with  that  little  crooked  smile  upon  her  face,  as  though 
she  were  young,  very  young  again. 

315 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

I  went  to  the  window,  and  Harry,  I  think,  was  close  be 
hind  me.  Before  me  lay  the  long  reaches  of  our  valley, 
shimmering  in  the  midday  autumn  sun.  It  seemed  a  scene 
of  peace  and  not  of  tragedy. 

But  even  as  I  looked,  there  came  rolling  up  our  valley, 
slowly,  almost  as  though  visible,  the  low,  deep  boom  of  the 
signal  gun  from  the  village  below.  It  carried  news,  the  news 
from  America! 

We  started,  all  of  us.  I  saw  Colonel  Sheraton  half  look 
up  as  he  stood,  bent  over  the  bed.  Thus,  stunned  by  horror 
as  we  were,  we  waited.  It  was  a  long  time,  an  interminable 
time,  moments,  minutes,  it  seemed  to  me,  until  there  must 
have  been  thrice  time  for  the  repetition  of  the  signal,  if  there 
was  to  be  one. 

There  was  no  second  sound.  The  signal  was  alone,  single, 
ominous. 

"Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  cried  Colonel  Sheraton, 
swinging  his  hands  aloft,  tears  rolling  down  his  old  gray 
cheeks.  "It  is  war!  Now  we  may  find  f orgetf ulness ! " 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

THE  RECKONING 

SO  IT  was  war.  We  drew  apart  into  hostile  camps. 
By  midwinter  South  Carolina,  Mississippi,  Georgia, 
Alabama,  Florida,  Louisiana,  Texas,  had  withdrawn 
from  the  Union.  There  arose  two  capitals,  each  claiming  a 
government,  each  planning  war:  Washington  and  Rich 
mond. 

As  for  me,  I  had  seen  the  flag  on  our  far  frontiers,  in  wide, 
free  lands.  It  was  a  time  when  each  must  choose  for  him 
self.  I  knew  with  whom  my  own  lot  must  be  cast.  I 
pledged  myself  to  follow  the  flag  of  the  frontier,  wherever  it 
might  go. 

During  the  winter  I  busied  myself,  and  when  the  gun  of 
Sumpter  came  on  that  sad  day  of  April,  I  was  ready  with  a 
company  of  volunteers  who  had  known  some  months  of  drill, 
at  least,  and  who  had  been  good  enough  to  elect  me  for  their 
captain.  Most  of  my  men  came  from  the  mountains  of 
Western  Virginia,  where  geography  made  loyalty,  and  loy 
alty  later  made  a  State.  I  heard,  remotely,  that  Colonel 
Meriwether  would  not  join  the  Confederacy.  Some  men  of 
Western  Virginia  and  Eastern  Kentucky  remained  with  the 
older  flag.  Both  the  Sheratons,  the  old  Colonel  and  his  son 
Harry,  were  of  course  for  the  South,  and  early  in  January 
they  both  left  home  for  Richmond.  On  the  other  hand, 
again,  our  friend  Captain  Stevenson  stood  for  the  Federal 

317 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

government;  and  so  I  heard,  also  indirectly,  did  young 
Belknap  of  the  Ninth  Dragoons,  Regulars,  a  gallant  boy 
who  swiftly  reached  distinction,  and  died  a  gallant  man's 
death  at  Shiloh  later  on. 

My  mother,  all  for  peace,  was  gray  and  silent  over  these 
hurrying  events.  She  wept  when  she  saw  me  in  uniform  and 
belt.  "See,"  she  said,  "we  freed  our  slaves  long  ago.  We 
thought  as  the  North  thinks.  This  war  is  not  for  the  Society 
of  Friends."  But  she  saw  my  father's  blood  in  me  again, 
and  sighed.  "Go,  then,"  she  said. 

All  over  the  country,  North  and  South,  came  the  same 
sighed  consent  of  the  women,  "Go,  then."  And  so  we  went 
out  to  kill  each  other,  we  who  should  all  have  been  brothers. 
None  of  us  would  listen.  The  armies  formed,  facing  each 
other  on  Virginia  soil.  Soon  in  our  trampled  fields,  and 
broken  herds,  and  ruined  crops,  in  our  desolated  homes  and 
hearts,  we,  brothers  in  America,  learned  the  significance 
of  war. 

They  crossed  our  little  valley,  passing  through  Alexandria, 
coming  from  Harper's  Ferry,  these  raw  ninety-day  men  of 
McDowell  and  Patterson,  who  thought  to  end  the  Confed 
eracy  that  spring.  Northern  politics  drove  them  into  battle 
before  they  had  learned  arms.  By  midsummer  all  the 
world  knew  that  they  would  presently  encounter,  somewhere 
near  Manassas,  to  the  south  and  west,  the  forces  of  Beaure- 
gard  and  Johnston,  then  lying  within  practical  touch  of  each 
other  by  rail. 

My  men,  most  of  them  young  fellows  used  to  horse  and 
arms,  were  brigaded  as  infantry  with  one  of  the  four  divi 
sions  of  McDowell's  men,  who  converged  along  different 
lines  toward  Fairfax.  For  nearly  a  week  we  lay  near  the 

318 


THE  RECKONING 

front  of  the  advance,  moving  on  in  snail-like  fashion,  which 
ill-suited  most  of  us  Virginians,  who  saw  no  virtue  in  post 
poning  fight,  since  we  were  there  for  fighting.  We  scattered 
our  forces,  we  did  not  unite,  we  did  not  entrench,  we  did  not 
advance;  we  made  all  the  mistakes  a  young  army  could, 
worst  of  all  the  mistake  of  hesitancy. 

It  was  not  until  the  twentieth  of  July  that  our  leaders  de 
termined  upon  a  flanking  movement  to  our  right,  which  was 
to  cross  Bull  Run  at  the  Sudley  Ford.  Even  so,  we  dallied 
along  until  every  one  knew  our  plans.  Back  of  us,  the  battle 
opened  on  the  following  day,  a  regiment  at  a  time,  with  no 
concert,  no  plan.  My  men  were  with  this  right  wing,  which 
made  the  turning  movement,  but  four  brigades  in  all.  Four 
other  brigades,  those  of  Howard,  Burnside,  Keyes  and 
Schenck,  were  lost  somewhere  to  the  rear  of  us.  Finally,  we 
crossed  and  reached  the  left  flank  of  the  Confederates  under 
Beauregard,  and  swung  south  along  Bull  Run.  Our  attack 
was  scattering  and  ill-planned,  but  by  three  o'clock  of  the 
next  day  we  were  in  the  thickest  of  the  fighting  around  the 
slopes  which  led  up  to  the  Henry  House,  back  of  which  lay 
the  Confederate  headquarters. 

I  saw  the  batteries  of  Rickett  and  Griffin  of  our  Regulars 
advance  and  take  this  height  against  the  steadily  thickening 
line  of  the  Confederates,  who  had  now  had  full  time  to  con 
centrate.  There  came  a  hot  cavalry  charge  upon  the 
Zouave  regiment  on  my  left,  and  I  saw  the  Zouaves  lie  down 
in  the  woods  and  melt  the  line  of  that  charge  with  their  fire, 
and  save  the  battery  for  a  time.  Then  in  turn  I  saw  that 
blunder  by  which  the  battery  commander  allowed  Cum- 
mings'  men — the  Thirty-third  Virginia,  I  think  it  was— 
deliberately  to  march  within  stone's  throw  of  them,  mistaken 

319 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

for  Federal  troops.  I  saw  them  pour  a  volley  at  short  range 
into  the  guns,  which  wiped  out  their  handlers,  and  let  through 
the  charging  lines  now  converging  rapidly  upon  us.  Then, 
though  it  was  but  my  first  battle,  I  knew  that  our  movement 
must  fail,  that  our  extended  line,  lying  upon  nothing,  sup 
ported  by  nothing,  must  roll  back  in  retreat  along  a  trough 
road,  where  the  horses  and  guns  would  mow  us  down. 

Stuart's  men  came  on,  riding  through  us  as  we  broke  and 
scattered.  Wheat's  Louisiana  Tigers  came  through  our 
remnants  as  well.  We  had  no  support.  We  did  not  know 
that  back  of  the  hill  the  Confederate  recruits  were  breaking 
badly  as  ourselves,  and  running  to  the  rear.  We  were  all 
new  in  war.  We  of  the  invading  forces  caught  the  full 
terror  of  that  awful  panic  which  the  next  day  set  the  North 
in  mourning,  and  the  South  aflame  with  a  red  exultation. 

All  around  us  our  lines  wavered,  turned  and  fled.  But  to 
some,  who  knew  the  danger  of  the  country  back  of  us,  it 
seemed  safer  to  stay  than  to  run.  To  that  fact  I  owe  my 
life,  and  at  least  a  little  satisfaction  that  some  of  us  Vir 
ginians  held  our  line  for  a  time,  even  against  those  other 
Virginians  who  came  on  at  us. 

We  were  scattered  in  a  thin  line  in  cover  of  heavy  timber, 
and  when  the  pursuit  came  over  us  we  killed  a  score  of  their 
men  after  they  had  passed.  Such  was  the  confusion  and  the 
madness  of  the  pursuit,  that  they  rolled  beyond  our  broken 
line  like  a  wave,  scarce  knowing  we  were  there.  Why  I 
escaped  I  do  not  know,  for  I  was  now  easily  visible,  mounted 
on  a  horse  which  I  had  caught  as  it  came  through  the  wood 
riderless.  I  was  passing  along  our  little  front,  up  and  down, 
as  best  I  could  in  the  tangle. 

The  pursuit  went  through  us  strung  out,  scattered,  as  dis- 

320 


THE  RECKONING 

organized  as  our  own  flight.  They  were  practically  over  us 
and  gone  when,  as  I  rode  to  the  right  flank  of  the  remaining 
splinter  of  my  little  company,  I  saw,  riding  down  upon  us,  a 
splendid  soldier,  almost  alone,  and  apparently  endeavoring 
to  reach  his  command  after  some  delay  at  the  rear.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  fine  horse — a  great  black  animal.  His  tall 
figure  was  clad  in  the  gray  uniform  of  the  Confederates, 
with  a  black  hat  sweeping  back  from  his  forehead.  He  wore 
cavalry  boots  and  deep  gauntleted  gloves,  and  in  all  made  a 
gallant  martial  figure  as  he  rode.  A  few  of  our  men,  half 
witless  with  their  terror,  crossed  his  path.  I  saw  him  half 
rise,  once,  twice,  four  times,  standing  in  the  stirrups  to  en 
force  his  saber  cuts,  each  one  of  which  dropped  a  man.  He 
and  his  horse  moved  together,  a  splendid  engine  of  ruthless 
butchery. 

"Look  out,  Cap  I"  I  heard  a  squeaking  voice  behind  me 
call,  and  looking  down,  I  saw  one  of  my  men,  his  left  arm 
hanging  loose,  resting  his  gun  across  a  log  with  his  right. 
" Git  out  'o  the  way,"  he  repeated.  "I'm  goin'  to  kill  him." 
It  was  that  new-made  warrior,  Andrew  Jackson  McGovern, 
who  had  drifted  back  into  our  valley  from  some  place,  and 
joined  my  company  soon  after  its  organization.  I  ordered 
the  boy  now  to  drop  his  gun.  "Leave  him  alone!"  I  cried. 
"He  belongs  to  me." 

It  was  Gordon  Orme.  At  last,  fate  had  relented  for  me. 
My  enemy  was  at  hand.  No  man  but  Orme  could  thus  ride 
my  old  horse,  Satan.  Now  I  saw  where  the  horse  had  gone, 
and  who  it  was  that  owned  him,  and  why  Orme  was  here. 

I  rode  out  to  meet  him.  The  keenness  of  the  coming 
encounter  for  the  time  almost  caused  me  to  forget  my  anger. 
I  seem  never  to  have  thought  but  that  fate  had  brought  me 

321 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

there  for  that  one  purpose.  He  saw  me  advance,  and 
whirled  in  my  direction,  eager  as  myself;  and  presently  I 
saw  also  that  he  recognized  me,  as  I  did  him. 

This  is  to  be  said  of  Gordon  Orme,  that  he  feared  no  man 
or  thing  on  earth.  He  smiled  at  me  now,  showing  his  long, 
narrow  teeth,  as  he  came,  lightly  twirling  his  long  blade. 
Two  pistols  lay  in  my  holsters,  and  both  were  freshly  loaded, 
but  without  thought  I  had  drawn  my  sword  for  a  weapon,  I 
suppose  because  he  was  using  his.  He  was  a  master  of  the 
sword,  I  but  a  beginner  with  it. 

We  rode  straight  in,  and  I  heard  the  whistle  of  his  blade  as 
he  circled  it  about  his  head  like  a  band  of  light.  As  we  joined 
he  made  a  cut  to  the  left,  easily,  gently,  as  he  leaned  forward ; 
but  it  came  with  such  swiftness  that  had  it  landed  I  doubt 
not  my  neck  would  have  been  shorn  like  a  robin's.  But  at 
least  I  could  ride  as  well  as  he  or  any  other  man.  I  dropped 
and  swerved,  pulling  out  of  line  a  few  inches  as  we  passed. 
My  own  blow,  back-handed,  was  fruitless  as  his. 

We  wheeled  and  came  on  again,  and  yet  again,  and  each 
time  he  put  me  on  defense,  and  each  time  I  learned  more  of 
what  was  before  me  to  do.  My  old  servant,  Satan,  was  now 
his  servant,  and  the  great  black  horse  was  savage  against  me 
as  was  his  rider.  Wishing  nothing  so  much  as  to  kill  his 
own  rival,  he  came  each  time  with  his  ears  back  and  his 
mouth  open,  wicked  in  the  old  blood  lust  that  I  knew.  It 
was  the  fury  of  his  horse  that  saved  me,  I  suppose,  for  as  that 
mad  beast  bored  in,  striving  to  overthrow  my  own  horse,  the 
latter  would  flinch  away  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  so  that  I 
needed  to  give  him  small  attention  when  we  met  in  these 
short,  desperate  charges.  I  escaped  with  nothing  more  than 
a  rip  across  the  shoulder,  a  touch  on  the  cheek,  on  the  arm, 

322 


THE  RECKONING 

where  his  point  reached  me  lightly,  as  my  horse  swerved 
away  from  the  encounters.  I  could  not  reach  Orme  at  all. 

At  last,  I  know  not  how,  we  clashed  front  on,  and  his  horse 
bore  mine  back,  with  a  scream  fastening  his  teeth  in  the  crest 
of  my  mount,  as  a  dog  seizes  his  prey.  I  saw  Orme's  sword 
turn  lightly,  easily  again  around  his  head,  saw  his  wrist  turn 
gently,  smoothly  down  and  extend  in  a  cut  which  was  aimed 
to  catch  me  full  across  the  head.  There  was  no  parry  I 
could  think,  but  the  full  counter  in  kind.  My  blade  met 
his  with  a  shock  that  jarred  my  arm  to  the  shoulder. 

I  saw  him  give  back,  pull  off  his  mad  horse  and  look  at  his 
hand,  where  his  own  sword  was  broken  off,  a  foot  above  the 
hilt.  Smiling,  he  saluted  with  it,  reigning  back  his  horse, 
and  no  more  afraid  of  me  than  if  I  were  a  child.  He  did  not 
speak,  nor  did  I.  I  pulled  up  my  own  horse,  not  wishing  to 
take  the  advantage  that  now  was  mine,  but  knowing  that  he 
would  not  yield — that  I  must  kill  him. 

He  did  so  at  his  own  peril  who  took  Orme  for  a  dullard. 
I  watched  him  closely.  He  saluted  again  with  his  broken 
sword,  and  made  as  though  to  toss  it  from  him,  as  indeed  he 
did.  Then  like  a  flash  his  hand  dropped  to  his  holster. 

I  read  his  thought,  I  presume,  when  he  made  his  second 
salute.  His  motion  of  tossing  away  the  sword  hilt  gave  me 
the  fraction  of  time  which  sometimes  is  the  difference  be 
tween  life  and  death.  Our  fire  was  almost  at  the  same 
instant,  but  not  quite.  His  bullet  cut  the  epaulet  clean  from 
my  left  shoulder;  but  he  did  not  fire  again,  nor  did  I.  I  saw 
him  straighten  up  in  his  saddle,  precisely  as  I  had  once  seen 
an  Indian  chieftain  do  under  Orme's  own  fire.  He  looked 
at  me  with  a  startled  expression  on  his  face. 

At  that  moment  there  came  from  the  edge  of  the  woods 

323 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

the  crack  of  a  musket.  The  great  horse  Satan  pitched  his 
head  forward  and  dropped  limp,  sinking  to  his  knees.  As 
he  rolled  he  caught  his  rider  under  him.  I  myself  sprung 
down,  shouting  out  some  command  toward  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  that  they  should  leave  this  man  to  me. 

Whether  my  men  heard  me  or  not  I  do  not  know.  Per 
haps  they  heard  rather  the  hoarse  shouts  of  a  fresh  column 
in  gray  which  came  up  in  the  pursuit,  fagged  with  its  own 
running.  When  these  new  men  passed  me  all  they  saw 
was  a  bit  of  wood  torn  with  shot  and  ball,  and  in  the  open 
two  figures,  both  dusty  and  gray,  one  helping  the  other  from 
what  seemed  to  be  a  fall  of  his  horse.  Scenes  like  that  were 
common.  We  were  not  disturbed  by  the  men  of  either  side. 
We  were  alone  presently,  Gordon  Orme  and  I. 

I  stooped  and  caught  hold  of  the  hind  leg  of  the  great 
black  horse,  and  even  as  I  had  once  turned  a  dead  bull,  so 
now  I  turned  this  carcass  on  its  back.  I  picked  up  the 
fallen  rider  and  carried  him  to  the  woods,  and  there  I  propped 
his  body  against  a  tree.  Slowly  he  opened  his  eyes,  even 
pulled  himself  up  more  fully  against  the  support. 

"  Thank  you,  old  man,"  he  said.  "  The  horse  was  deucedly 
heavy — spoiled  that  leg,  I  think."  He  pointed  to  his  boot, 
where  his  foot  lay  turned  to  one  side.  "I  suffer  badly.  Be 
a  good  fellow  and  end  it." 

I  answered  him  by  tossing  down  one  of  his  own  pistols, 
both  of  which  I  had  secured  against  need.  He  looked  at  it, 
but  shook  his  head. 

"Let's  talk  it  over  a -bit  first,"  he  said.  "I'm  done.  I'll 
not  make  any  trouble.  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  break 
parole?  " 

"No,"  said  I,  and  I  threw  down  the  other  weapon  on  the 


THE  RECKONING 

ground.  "In  mercy  to  us  both,  Orme,  die.  I  do  not  want 
to  kill  you  now;  and  you  shall  not  live." 

"I'm  safe  enough,"  he  said.  "It's  through  the  liver  and 
stomach.  I  can't  possibly  get  over  it." 

He  stared  straight  ahead  of  him,  as  though  summoning  his 
will.  "  Swami!"  I  heard  him  mutter,  as  though  addressing 
some  one. 

"There,  that's  better,"  he  said  finally.  He  sat  almost 
erect,  smiling  at  me.  "It  is  Asana,  the  art  of  posture,"  he 
said.  "I  rest  my  body  on  my  ribs,  my  soul  on  the  air. 
Feel  my  heart." 

I  did  so,  and  drew  away  my  hand  almost  in  terror.  It 
stopped  beating  at  his  will,  and  began  again!  His  uncanny 
art  was  still  under  his  control! 

"  I  shall  be  master  here  for  a  little  while,"  he  said.  "  So — 
I  move  those  hurt  organs  to  ease  the  flow.  But  I  can't  stop 
the  holes,  nor  mend  them.  We  can't  get  at  the  tissues  to 
sew  them  fast.  After  a  while  I  shall  die.  He  spoke  clearly, 
with  utter  calmness,  dispassionately.  I  never  saw  his  like 
among  men. 

I  stood  by  him  silently.  He  put  his  own  hand  on  his 
chest.  "Poor  old  heart,"  he  said.  "Feel  it  work!  Enor 
mous  pumping  engine,  tremendous  thing,  the  heart.  Think 
what  it  does  in  seventy  years — and  all  for  what — that  we  may 
live  and  enjoy,  and  so  maybe  die.  What  few  minutes  I  have 
now  I  owe  to  having  trained  what  most  folk  call  an  involun 
tary  muscle.  I  command  my  heart  to  beat,  and  so  it  does." 

I  looked  down  at  a  strange,  fascinating  soul,  a  fearsome 
personality,  whose  like  I  never  knew  in  all  my  life. 

"Will  you  make  me  a  promise?"  he  said,  smiling  at  me, 
mocking  at  me, 

325 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you,  after  my  death  to  take  my  heart 
and  send  it  back  to  my  people  at  Orme  Castle,  Gordon 
Arms,  in  England — you  know  where.  It  would  be  a  kind 
ness  to  the  family."  I  gazed  at  him  in  a  sort  of  horror,  but 
he  smiled  and  went  on.  "We're  mediaeval  to-day  as  ever  we 
were.  Some  of  us  are  always  making  trouble,  one  corner  or 
the  other  of  the  world,  and  until  the  last  Gordon  heart  comes 
home  to  rest,  there's  no  peace  for  that  generation.  Hun 
dreds  of  years,  they've  traveled  all  over  the  world,  and  been 
lost,  and  stolen,  and  hidden.  My  father's  is  lost  now,  some 
where.  Had  it  come  back  home  to  rest,  my  own  life  might 
have  been  different.  I  say,  Cowles,  couldn't  you  do  that  for 
me?  We've  nearly  always  had  some  last  friend  that  would 
— we  Gordons." 

"I  would  do  nothing  for  you  as  a  favor,"  I  answered. 

"Then  do  it  because  it  is  right.  I'd  rather  it  should  be 
you.  You've  a  wrist  like  steel,  and  a  mind  like  steel  when 
you  set  yourself  to  do  a  thing." 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  went  on,  a  trifle  weary  now,  "you've 
won.  I'm  jolly  well  accounted  for,  and  it  was  fair.  I  hope 
they'll  not  bag  you  when  you  try  to  get  out  of  this.  But 
won't  you  promise  what  I've  asked?  Won't  you  promise?" 

It  is  not  for  me  to  say  whether  or  not  I  made  a  promise  to 
Gordon  Orme,  or  to  say  whether  or  not  things  mediaeval  or 
occult  belong  with  us  to-day.  Neither  do  I  expect  many  to 
believe  the  strange  truth  about  Gordon  Orme.  I  only  say 
it  is  hard  to  deny  those  about  to  die. 

"Orme,"  I  said,  "I  wish  you  had  laid  out  your  life  differ 
ently.  You  are  a  wonderful  man." 

"The  great  games,"  he  smiled— " sport,  love,  war!" 

326 


THE  RECKONING 

Then  his  face  saddened.  "I  say,  have  you  kept  your  other 
promise  to  me?"  he  asked.  "Did  you  marry  that  girl— 
what  was  her  name — Miss  Sheraton?" 

"Miss  Sheraton  is  dead." 

"Married?"  he  asked. 

"No.  She  died  within  two  months  after  the  night  I 
caught  you  in  the  yard.  I  should  have  killed  you  then, 
Orme." 

He  nodded.  "Yes,  but  at  least  I  showed  some  sort  of 
remorse — the  first  time,  I  think.  Not  a  bad  sort,  that  girl, 
but  madly  jealous.  Fighting  blood,  I  imagine,  in  that 
family  1" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "her  father  and  brother  and  I,  all  three, 
swore  the  same  oath." 

"The  same  spirit  was  in  the  girl,"  he  said,  nodding  again. 
"Revenge — that  was  what  she  wanted.  That's  why  it  all 
happened.  It  was  what  /  wanted,  too!  You  blocked  me 
with  the  only  woman " 

"Do  not  speak  her  name,"  I  said  to  him,  quietly.  "The 
nails  on  your  fingers  are  growing  blue,  Orme.  Go  with  some 
sort  of  squaring  of  your  own  accounts.  Try  to  think." 

He  shrugged  a  shoulder.  "My  Swami  said  we  do  not 
die — we  only  change  worlds  or  forms.  What!  I,  Gordon 
Orme,  to  be  blotted  out — to  lose  my  mind  and  soul  and  body 
and  senses — not  to  be  able  to  enjoy.  No,  Cowles,  somewhere 
there  are  other  worlds,  with  women  in  them.  I  do  not  die 
— I  transfer."  But  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead. 

"As  to  going,  no  ways  are  better  than  this,"  he  mused, 
presently.  "I  swear  I'm  rather  comfortable  now;  a  trifle 
numb — but  we — I  say,  we  must  all — all  go  some  time,  you 
know.  Did  you  hear  me?"  he  repeated,  smiling.  "I  was 

327 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

just  saying  that  we  must  all  go,  one  way  or  another,  you 
know." 

"I  heard  you,"  I  said.     "You  are  going  now." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "one  can't  hold  together  forever 
under  a  pull  like  this.  You're  an  awfully  decent  sort.  Give 
me  a  bit  of  paper.  I  want  to  write."  I  found  him  a  pencil 
and  some  pages  of  my  notebook. 

"To  please  you,  I'll  try  to  square  some  things,"  he  said. 
"You've  been  so  deuced  square  and  straight  with  me,  all 
along.  I'm — I'm  Gordon,  now,  I'm  English.  Word  of  a 
fighting  man,  my — my  friend." 

He  leaned  forward,  peering  down  at  the  paper  as  though 
he  did  not  clearly  see;  but  he  wrote  slowly  for  a  time,  ab 
sorbed  in  thought. 

In  all  the  death  scenes  which  our  country  knew  in  thou 
sands  during  those  years,  I  doubt  if  any  more  unbelievable 
than  this  ever  had  occurrence.  I  saw  the  blood  soaking  all 
his  garments,  lying  black  on  the  ground  about  him.  I  saw 
his  face  grow  gray  and  his  nails  grow  blue,  his  pallor  deepen 
as  the  veins  lost  their  contents.  I  saw  him  die.  But  I  swear 
that  he  still  sat  there,  calm  as  though  he  did  not  suffer,  and 
forced  his  body  to  do  his  will.  And — though  I  ask  a  rough 
man's  pardon  for  intruding  my  own  beliefs — since  he  used 
his  last  superb  reserves  to  leave  the  truth  behind  him,  I  myself 
thought  that  there  must  be  somewhere  an  undying  instinct  of 
truth  and  justice,  governing  even  such  as  Gordon  Orme;  yes, 
I  hope,  governing  such  as  myself  as  well.  Since  then  I  have 
felt  that  somewhere  there  must  be  a  great  religion  written  on 
the  earth  and  in  the  sky.  As  to  what  this  could  offer  in 
peace  to  Gordon  Orme  I  do  not  say.  His  was  a  vast  debt. 
Perhaps  Truth  never  accepted  it  as  paid.  I  do  not  know. 

328 


viBBi 


ft 


,.:,^ 

"As  we  joined  he  made  a  cut  to  the  left"    (see  page  322) 


THE  RECKONING 

There  he  sat,  at  last  smiling  again  as  he  looked  up.  "  Fin 
gers  getting  dreadfully  stiff.  Tongue  will  go  next.  Muscles 
still  under  the  power  for  a  little  time.  Here,  take  this. 
You're  going  to  live,  and  this  is  the  only  thing — it'll  make 
you  miserable,  but  happy,  too.  Good-by.  I'll  not  stop 
longer,  I  think." 

Like  a  flash  his  hand  shot  out  to  the  weapon  that  lay  near 
him  on  the  ground.  I  shrank  back,  expecting  the  ball  full 
in  my  face.  Instead,  it  passed  through  his  own  brain! 

His  will  was  broken  as  that  physical  instrument,  the  brain, 
wonder  seat  of  the  mysteries  of  the  mind,  was  rent  apart. 
His  splendid  mind  no  longer  ruled  his  splendid  body.  His 
body  itself,  relaxing,  sank  forward,  his  head  at  one  side,  his 
hand  dropping  limp.  A  smile  drew  down  the  corner  of  his 
mouth — a  smile  horrible  in  its  pathos;  mocking,  and  yet 
beseeching. 

At  last  I  rubbed  the  blood  from  my  own  face  and  stooped 
to  read  what  he  had  written.  Then  I  thanked  God  that  he 
was  dead,  knowing  how  impossible  it  would  have  been 
elsewise  for  me  to  stay  my  hand.  These  were  the  words: 

"  I,  Gordon  Orme,  dying  July  21,  1861,  confess  that  I  killed  John 
Cowles,  Senior,  in  the  month  of  April,  1860,  at  the  road  near  Wal- 
lingford.  I  wanted  the  horse,  but  had  to  kill  Cowles.  Later  took 
the  money.  I  was  a  secret  agent,  detailed  for  work  among  U.  S. 
Army  men. 

"I,  Gordon  Orme,  having  seduced  Grace  Sheraton,  asked  John 
Cowles  to  marry  her  to  cover  up  that  act. 

"I,  Gordon  Orme,  appoint  John  Cowles  my  executor.  I  ask  him 
to  fulfill  last  request.  I  give  him  what  property  I  have  on  my 
person  for  his  own.  Further,  I  say  not;  and  being  long  ago  held  as 
dead,  I  make  no  bequests  as  to  other  property  whatsoever. — Gordon 
Orme.  In  Virginia,  U.  S.  A." 

329 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

It  was  he,  then,  who  had  in  cold  blood  killed  my  father! 
That  horrid  riddle  at  last  was  read.  In  that  confession  I  saw 
only  his  intent  to  give  me  his  last  touch  of  misery  and  pain. 
It  was  some  moments  before  I  could  read  all  the  puzzle  of 
his  speech,  half  of  which  had  promised  me  wretchedness,  and 
half  happiness.  Then  slowly  I  realized  what  I  held  in  my 
hand.  It  was  the  proof  of  his  guilt,  of  my  innocence.  He 
had  robbed  me  of  my  father.  He  had  given  me — what? 
At  least  he  had  given  me  a  chance.  Perhaps  Ellen  Meri- 
wether  would  believe! 


It  was  my  duty  to  care  for  the  personal  belongings  of 
Gordon  Orme;  but  regarding  these  matters  a  soldier  does 
not  care  to  speak.  I  took  from  his  coat  a  long,  folded 
leather  book.  It  was  hours  later,  indeed  late  the  following 
morning,  before  I  looked  into  it.  During  the  night  I  was 
busy  making  my  escape  from  that  fated  field.  As  I  came 
from  the  rear,  mounted,  I  was  supposed  to  be  of  the  Con 
federate  forces,  and  so  I  got  through  the  weary  and  scattered 
columns  of  pursuit,  already  overloaded  with  prisoners.  By 
morning  I  was  far  on  my  way  toward  the  Potomac.  Then 
I  felt  in  my  pockets,  and  opened  the  wallet  I  had  found  on 
Orme's  body. 

It  held  various  memoranda,  certain  writings  in  cipher, 
others  in  foreign  characters,  pieces  of  drawings,  maps  and 
the  like,  all  of  which  I  destroyed.  It  contained  also,  in  thin 
foreign  notes,  a  sum  large  beyond  the  belief  of  what  an  ordi 
nary  officer  would  carry  into  battle;  and  this  money,  for  the 
time,  I  felt  justified  in  retaining. 

Orme  was  no  ordinary  officer.    He  had  his  own  ways,  and 

330 


THE  RECKONING 

his  own  errand.  His  secret,  however  great  it  was — and  at 
different  times  I  have  had  reason  to  believe  that  men  high  in 
power  on  both  sides  knew  how  great  it  was,  and  how  im 
portant  to  be  kept  a  secret — never  became  fully  known. 
In  all  likelihood  it  was  not  his  business  actually  to  join  in  the 
fighting  ranks.  But  so  at  least  it  happened  that  his  secret 
went  into  the  unknown  with  himself.  He  was  lost  as  utterly 
as  though  he  were  a  dark  vision  passing  into  a  darker  and 
engulfing  night.  If  I  learned  more  than  most  regarding  him, 
I  am  not  free  to  speak.  He  named  no  heirs  beyond  myself. 
I  doubt  not  it  was  his  wish  that  he  should  indeed  be  held  as 
one  who  long  ago  had  died. 

Should  Gordon  Orme  arise  from  his  grave  and  front  me 
now,  I  should  hardly  feel  surprise,  for  mortal  conditions 
scarce  seem  to  give  his  dimensions.  But  should  I  see  him 
now,  I  should  fear  him  no  more  than  when  I  saw  him  last. 
His  page  then  was  closed  in  my  life  forever.  It  was  not  for 
me  to  understand  him.  It  is  not  for  me  to  judge  him. 


331 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

THIS   INDENTURE   WITNESSETH 

WITHIN  the  few  days  following  the  battle,  the  news 
papers  paused  in  their  warnings  and  rebukes  on 
the  one  side,  their  paeans  of  victory  on  the  other, 
and  turned  to  the  sober  business  of  printing  the  long  lists  of 
the  dead.  Then,  presently,  each  section  but  the  more  re 
solved,  the  North  and  South  again  joined  issue,  and  the  war 
went  on. 

As  for  myself,  I  was  busy  with  my  work,  for  now  my 
superiors  were  good  enough  to  advance  me  for  what  they 
called  valor  on  the  field.  Before  autumn  ended  I  was  one 
of  the  youngest  colonels  of  volunteers  in  the  Federal  Army. 
Thus  it  was  easy  for  me  to  find  a  brief  furlough  when  we 
passed  near  Leesburg  on  our  way  to  the  Blue  Ridge  Gap, 
and  I  then  ran  down  for  a  look  at  our  little  valley. 

The  women  now  were  taking  ranks  steadfastly  as  the  men. 
My  mother  greeted  me,  and  in  spite  of  all  her  sorrow,  in  spite 
of  all  the  ruin  that  lay  around  us  there,  I  think  she  felt  a  cer 
tain  pride.  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  suffered  me  to  lay 
aside  my  uniform.  It  hung  in  our  home  long  after  the  war 
was  ended,  and  my  Quaker  mother,  bless  her!  kept  it  whole 
and  clean. 

There  were  some  business  matters  to  be  attended  to  with 
our  friend  Dr.  Samuel  Bond,  who  had  been  charged  to  han 
dle  our  estate  matters  during  my  absence.  He  himself,  too 

332 


THIS   INDENTURE   WITNESSETH 

old  and  too  busy  to  serve  in  either  army,  had  remained  at 
home,  where  certainly  he  had  enough  to  do  before  the  end 
of  the  war,  as  first  one  army  and  then  the  other  swept  across 
Wallingford. 

I  found  Doctor  Bond  in  his  little  brick  office  at  the  top  of 
the  hill  overlooking  the  village.  It  was  he  who  first  showed 
me  the  Richmond  papers  with  lists  of  the  Confederate  dead. 
Colonel  Sheraton's  name  was  among  the  first  I  saw.  He 
had  been  with  Cumming's  forces,  closely  opposed  to  my  own 
position  at  Bull  Run.  He  himself  was  instantly  killed,  and 
his  son  Harry,  practically  at  his  side,  seriously,  possibly  fa 
tally  wounded,  was  now  in  hospital  at  Richmond.  Even  by 
this  time  we  were  learning  the  dullness  to  surprise  and  shock 
which  war  always  brings.  We  had  not  time  to  grieve. 

I  showed  Doctor  Bond  the  last  writing  of  Gordon  Orme, 
and  put  before  him  the  Bank  of  England  notes  which  I  had 
found  on  Orme's  person,  and  which,  by  the  terms  of  his 
testament,  I  thought  might  perhaps  belong  to  me. 

" Could  I  use  any  of  this  money  with  clean  conscience?" 
I  asked.  "Could  it  honorably  be  employed  in  the  discharg 
ing  of  the  debt  Orme  left  on  my  family?  " 

"A  part  of  that  debt  you  have  already  caused  him  to  dis 
charge,"  the  old  doctor  answered,  slowly.  "You  would  be 
doing  a  wrong  if  you  did  not  oblige  him  to  discharge  the 
rest." 

I  counted  out  and  laid  on  the  desk  before  him  the  amount 
of  the  funds  which  my  father's  memoranda  showed  had  been 
taken  from  him  by  Orme  that  fatal  night  more  than  a  year 
ago.  The  balance  of  the  notes  I  tossed  into  the  little  grate, 
and  with  no  more  ado  we  burned  them  there. 

We  concluded  our  conference  in  regard  to  my  business 

333 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

matters.  I  learned  that  the  coal  lands  had  been  redeemed 
from  foreclosure,  Colonel  Meriwether  having  advanced  the 
necessary  funds;  and  as  this  now  left  our  debt  running  to 
him,  I  instructed  Doctor  Bond  to  take  steps  to  cancel  it  imme 
diately,  and  to  have  the  property  partitioned  as  Colonel  Meri 
wether  should  determine. 

"And  now,  Jack,"  said  my  wire-haired  old  friend  to  me 
at  last,  "when  do  you  ride  to  Albemarle  ?  There  is  some 
thing  in  this  slip  of  paper" — he  pointed  to  Orme's  last  will 
and  confession — "which  a  certain  person  ought  to  see." 

"My  duties  do  not  permit  me  to  go  and  come  as  I  like 
these  days,"  I  answered  evasively.  But  Dr.  Samuel  Bond 
was  a  hard  man  to  evade. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  fumbling  in  his  dusty  desk,  "here's 
something  you  ought  to  see.  I  saved  it  for  you,  over  there, 
the  morning  you  threw  it  into  the  fireplace." 

He  spread  out  on  the  top  of  the  desk  a  folded  bit  of  hide. 
Familiar  enough  it  was  to  me. 

"You  saved  but  half,"  I  said.     "The  other  half  is  gone!" 

He  pushed  a  flake  of  snuff  far  up  his  long  nose.  "Yes," 
said  he  quietly.  "I  sent  it  to  her  some  three  months  ago." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Nothing,  you  fool.     What  did  you  expect?" 

"Listen,"  he  went  on  presently.  "Your  brain  is  dull. 
What  say  the  words  of  the  law?  'This  Indenture  Wit- 
nesseth!'  Now  what  is  an  'indenture'?  The  old  Romans 
and  the  old  English  knew.  They  wrote  a  contract  on  parch 
ment,  and  cut  it  in  two  with  an  indented  line,  and  they  gave 
each  party  a  half.  When  the  court  saw  that  these  two 
halves  fitted — as  no  other  portions  could — then  indeed  the 
indenture  witnessed.  It  was  its  own  proof. 

334 


THIS   INDENTURE   WITNESSETH 

"Now,  my  son,"  he  concluded  savagely,  "if  you  ever 
dreamed  of  marrying  any  other  woman,  damn  me  if  I  wouldn't 
come  into  court  and  make  this  indenture  witness  for  you 
both — for  her  as  well  as  you!  Go  on  away  now,  and  don't 
bother  me  any  more." 


335 


CHAPTER   XLV 

ELLEN 

OUR  forces  passed  up  the  valley  of  Virginia  and 
rolled  through  the  old  Rockfish  Gap — where  once 
the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Horn  paused  and  took 
possession,  in  the  name  of  King  Charles,  of  all  the  land 
thence  to  the  South  Sea.  We  overspread  all  the  Piedmont 
Valley  and  passed  down  to  the  old  town  of  Charlottesville. 
It  was  nearly  deserted  now.  The  gay  Southern  boys  who  in 
the  past  rode  there  with  their  negro  servants,  and  set  at 
naught  good  Thomas  Jefferson's  intent  of  simplicity  in  the 
narrow  little  chambers  of  the  old  University  of  Virginia,  now 
were  gone  with  their  horses  and  their  servants.  To-day  you 
may  see  their  names  in  bronze  on  the  tablets  at  the  University 
doors. 

I  quartered  my  men  about  the  quiet  old  place,  and  myself 
hunted  up  an  office-room  on  one  of  the  rambling  streets  that 
wandered  beneath  the  trees.  I  was  well  toward  the  finish 
of  my  morning's  work  when  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  sentry 
challenge,  and  caught  an  answering  word  of  indignation  in 
a  woman's  voice.  I  stepped  to  the  door. 

A  low,  single-seated  cart  was  halted  near  the  curb,  and  one 
of  its  occupants  was  apparently  much  angered.  I  saw  her 
clutch  the  long  brown  rifle  barrel  which  extended  out  at  the 
rear  over  the  top  of  the  seat.  "You  git  out'n  the  road, 
man,"  repeated  she,  "  or  I'll  take  a  shot  at  you  for  luck !  We 

336 


ELLEN 

done  come  this  fur,  and  I  reckon  we  c'n  go  the  rest  the 
way." 

That  could  be  no  one  but  old  Mandy  McGovern!  For 
the  sake  of  amusement  I  should  have  left  her  to  make  her 
own  argument  with  the  guard,  had  I  not  in  the  same  glance 
caught  sight  of  her  companion,  a  trim  figure  in  close  fitting 
corduroy  of  golden  brown,  a  wide  hat  of  russet  straw  shading 
her  face,  wide  gauntlet  gloves  drawn  over  her  little  hands. 

Women  were  not  usual  within  the  Army  lines.  Women 
such  as  this  were  not  usual  anywhere.  It  was  Ellen! 

Her  face  went  rosy  red  as  I  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  cart 
and  put  down  Mandy's  arm.  She  stammered,  unable  to 
speak  more  connectedly  than  I  myself.  Mandy  could  not 
forget  her  anger,  and  insisted  that  she  wanted  to  see  the 
"boss." 

"I  am  the  Colonel  in  command  right  here,  Aunt  Mandy," 
I  said.  "Won't  I  do?" 

"You  a  kunnel?"  she  retorted.  "Looks  to  me  like  kun- 
nels  is  mighty  easy  made  if  you'll  do.  No,  we're  atter 
Ginral  Meriwether,  who's  comin'  here  to  be  the  real  boss  of 
all  you  folks.  Say,  man,  you  taken  away  my  man  and  my 
boy.  Where  they  at?" 

"With  me  here,"  I  was  glad  to  answer,  "safe,  and  some 
where  not  far  away.  The  boy  is  wounded,  but  his  arm  is 
nearly  well." 

"Ain't  got  his  bellyful  o'  fightin'  yit?" 

"No,  both  he  and  Auberry  seem  to  be  just  beginning." 

"Humph!  Reackon  they're  happy,  then.  If  a  man's 
gettin'  three  squares  a  day  and  plenty  o'  fightin',  don't  see 
whut  more  he  kin  ask." 

"Corporal,"  I  called  to  my  sentry,  who  was  now  pacing 

337 


THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 

back  and  forth  before  the  door,  hiding  his  mouth  behind  his 
hand,  "put  this  woman  under  arrest,  and  hold  her  until  I 
return.  She's  looking  for  privates  Auberry  and  McGovern, 
G  Company,  First  Virginia  Volunteers.  Keep  her  in  my 
office  while  they're  sent  for.  Bring  me  my  bag  from  the 
table." 

It  was  really  a  pretty  fight,  that  between  Mandy  and  the 
corporal.  The  latter  was  obliged  to  call  out  the  guard  for 
aid.  "Sick  'em,  Pete!"  cried  Mandy,  when  she  found  her 
arms  pinioned;  and  at  once  there  darted  out  from  under  the 
cart  a  hairy  little  demon  of  a  dog,  mute,  mongrelish,  pink- 
eared,  which  began  silent  havoc  with  the  corporal's  legs. 

I  looked  again  at  that  dog.  I  was  ready  to  take  it  in  my 
arms  and  cry  out  that  it  was  my  friend!  It  was  the  little 
Indian  dog  that  Ellen  and  I  had  tamed!  Why,  then,  had 
she  kept  it,  why  had  she  brought  it  home  with  her?  I 
doubt  which  way  the  contest  would  have  gone,  had  not  Mandy 
seen  me  climb  into  her  vacated  seat  and  take  up  the  reins. 
"Pete"  then  stolidly  took  up  his  place  under  the  cart. 

We  turned  and  drove  back  up  the  shady  street,  Ellen  and 
I.  I  saw  her  fingers  twisting  together  in  her  lap,  but  as  yet 
she  had  not  spoken.  The  flush  on  her  cheek  was  deeper 
now.  She  beat  her  hands  together  softly,  confused,  half 
frightened;  but  she  did  not  beg  me  to  leave  her. 

"If  you  could  get  away,"  she  began  at  last,  "I  would  ask 
you  to  drive  me  back  home.  Aunt  Mandy  and  I  are  living 
there  together.  Kitty  Stevenson's  visiting  me — you'll — 
you'll  want  to  call  on  Kitty.  My  father  has  been  in  East 
Kentucky,  but  I  understand  he's  ordered  here  this  week. 
Major  Stevenson  is  with  him.  We  thought  we  might  get 
word,  and  so  came  on  through  the  lines." 

338 


ELLEN 

"You  had  no  right  to  do  so.  The  pickets  should  have 
stopped  you,"  I  said.  "At  the  same  time,  I  am  very  glad 
they  didn't." 

"So  you  are  a  Colonel,"  she  said  after  a  time,  with  an 
Army  girl's  nice  reading  of  insignia. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  an  officer.  Now  if  I  could  only 
be  a  gentleman  1" 

" Don't  1"  she  whispered.  "Don't  talk  in  that  way, 
please." 

"Do  you  think  I  could  be?" 

"I  think  you  have  been,"  she  whispered,  all  her  face  rosy 
now. 

We  were  now  near  the  line  of  our  own  pickets  on  this  edge 
of  the  town.  Making  myself  known,  I  passed  through  and 
drove  out  into  the  country  roads,  along  the  edge  of  the  hills, 
now  glorious  in  their  autumn  hues.  It  was  a  scene  fair  as 
Paradise  to  me.  Presently  Ellen  pointed  to  a  mansion 
house  on  a  far  off  hill — such  a  house  as  can  be  found  no 
where  in  America  but  in  this  very  valley;  an  old  family  seat, 
lying,  reserved  and  full  of  dignity,  at  a  hilltop  shielded  with 
great  oaks.  I  bethought  me  again  of  the  cities  of  peace  I 
had  seen  on  the  far  horizons  of  another  land  than  this. 

"That  is  our  home,"  she  said.  "We  have  not  often  been 
here  since  grandfather  died,  and  then  my  mother.  But  this 
is  the  place  that  we  Meriwethers  all  call  home." 

Then  I  saw  again  what  appeal  the  profession  of  arms 
makes  to  a  man — how  strong  is  its  fascination.  It  had 
taken  the  master  of  a  home  like  this  from  a  life  like  this, 
and  plunged  him  into  the  hardships  and  dangers  of  frontier 
war,  again  into  the  still  more  difficult  and  dangerous  con 
flicts  between  great  armies.  Not  for  months,  for  years,  had 

339 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

he  set  foot  on  his  own  sod — sod  like  ours  in  Loudotm,  never 
broken  by  a  plow. 

As  we  approached  the  gate  I  heard  behind  us  the  sound  of 
galloping  horses.  There  came  up  the  road  a  mounted  officer, 
with  his  personal  escort,  an  orderly,  several  troopers,  and  a 
grinning  body  servant. 

"Look — there  he  conies — it  is  my  father!"  exclaimed 
Ellen ;  and  in  a  moment  she  was  out  of  the  cart  and  running 
down  the  road  to  meet  him,  taking  his  hand,  resting  her 
cheek  against  his  dusty  thigh,  as  he  sat  in  saddle. 

The  officer  saluted  me  sharply.  "You  are  outside  the 
lines,"  said  he.  "Have  you  leave?" 

I  saluted  also,  and  caught  the  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  I  looked 
into  his  face. 

"On  detached  service  this  morning,  General,"  I  said. 
"If  you  please,  I  shall  report  to  you  within  the  hour." 

He  wheeled  his  horse  and  spurred  on  up  along  his  own 
grounds,  fit  master  for  their  stateliness.  But  he  entered, 
leaving  the  gate  wide  open  for  us  to  pass. 

"Shut  the  gate,  Benjie,"  said  Ellen  as  I  tossed  down  a 
coin  to  the  grinning  black.  And  then  to  me,  "You  don't  know 
Benjie?  Yes,  he's  married  again  to  Kitty's  old  cook,  Annie. 
They're  both  here." 

An  orderly  took  our  horse  when  finally  we  drove  up;  but 
at  the  time  I  did  not  go  into  the  house.  I  did  not  ask  for 
Mrs.  Kitty  Stevenson.  A  wide  seat  lay  beneath  one  of  the 
oaks.  We  wandered  thither,  Ellen  and  I.  The  little  dog, 
mute,  watchful,  kept  close  at  her  side. 

"Ellen,"  said  I  to  her,  "the  time  has  come  now.  I  am 
not  going  to  wait  any  longer.  Read  this."  I  put  into  her 
hand  Gordon  Orme's  confession. 

340 


ELLEN 

She  read,  with  horror  starting  on  her  face.  "What  a 
scoundrel — what  a  criminal!"  she  said.  "The  man  was  a 
demon.  He  killed  your  father!" 

"Yes,  and  in  turn  I  killed  him,"  I  said,  slowly.  Her  eyes 
flashed.  She  was  savage  again,  as  I  had  seen  her.  My  soul 
leaped  out  to  see  her  fierce,  relentless,  exulting  that  I  had 
fought  and  won,  careless  that  I  had  slain. 

"  Orme  did  all  he  could  to  ruin  me  in  every  way,"  I  added. 
"Read  on."  Then  I  saw  her  face  change  to  pity  as  she 
came  to  the  next  clause.  So  now  she  knew  the  truth  about 
Grace  Sheraton,  and,  I  hoped,  the  truth  about  John  Cowles. 

"Can  you  forgive  me?"  she  said, brokenly,  her  dark  eyes 
swimming  in  tears,  as  she  turned  toward  me. 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  I  answered,  slowly.  "It  is, 
can  you  forgive  me?"  Her  hand  fell  on  my  arm  implor 
ingly. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  I  was  much  to  blame  for  that  poor 
girl's  act,"  I  continued.  "The  question  only  is,  has  my 
punishment  been  enough,  or  can  it  be  enough?  Do  you 
forgive  me?  We  all  make  mistakes.  Am  I  good  enough 
for  you,  Ellen?  answer  me." 

But  she  would  not  yet  answer.    So  I  went  on. 

"I  killed  Gordon  Orme  myself,  in  fair  fight;  but  he  wrote 
this  of  his  own  free  will.  He  himself  told  me  it  would  be 
proof.  Is  it  proof?" 

She  put  the  paper  gently  to  one  side  of  her  on  the  long 
seat.  "I  do  not  need  it,"  she  said.  "If  it  came  to  question 
of  proof,  we  have  learned  much  of  these  matters,  my  father 
and  I,  since  we  last  met  you.  But  I  have  never  needed  it; 
not  even  that  night  we  said  good-by.  Ah!  how  I  wanted 
you  back  after  you  had  gone!" 

341 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

11  And  your  father?  "  I  asked  of  her,  my  hand  falling  on  hers. 

"He  knows  as  much  as  I.  Lately  he  has  heard  from  your 
friend,  Doctor  Bond — we  have  both  learned  a  great  many 
things.  We  are  sorry.  I  am  sorry.  I  have  always  been 
sorry." 

"But  what  more?"  I  asked.    "Ellen!" 

She  put  out  her  hands  in  a  sort  of  terror.  "Don't,"  she 
said.  "I  have  put  all  this  away  for  so  long  that  now — I 
can't  begin  again.  I  can't!  I  can't!  I  am  afraid.  Do  not 
ask  me.  Do  not.  No — no!" 

She  started  from  the  seat  as  though  she  would  have  fled 
in  a  swift  panic.  But  now  I  caught  her. 

"Stop!"  I  exclaimed,  rage  in  all  my  heart.  "I've  been  a 
fool  long  enough,  and  now  I  will  have  no  more  of  foolishness. 
I  will  try  no  more  to  figure  niceties.  I'll  not  try  to  under 
stand  a  woman.  But  gentleman  or  not,  I  swear  by  God!  if 
we  were  alone  again,  we  two,  out  there — then  I'd  not  use  you 
the  same  the  second  time  whatever  you  said,  or  asked,  or 
pleaded,  or  argued,  I  would  not  listen — not  a  word  would 
I  listen  to — you  should  do  as  I  said,  as  I  desired.  And  I  say 
now  you  must,  you  shall!" 

Anger  may  have  been  in  my  face — I  do  not  know.  I 
crushed  her  back  into  the  seat. 

And  she — Ellen — the  girl  I  had  seen  and  loved  in  the  desert 
silences? 

She  sank  back  against  the  rail  with  a  little  sigh  as  of  con 
tent,  a  little  smile  as  of  a  child  caught  in  mischief  and  barred 
from  escape.  Oh,  though  I  lived  a  thousand  years,  never 
would  I  say  I  understood  a  woman! 

"Now  we  will  end  all  this,"  I  said,  frowning.  I  caught 
her  by  the  arm  and  led  her  to  the  gallery,  where  I  picked  up 

342 


ELLEN 

the  bag  I  had  left  at  the  driveway.  I  myself  rang  at  the  door, 
not  allowing  her  to  lead  me  in.  The  orderly  came. 

"My  compliments  to  General  Meriwether,"  I  said,  "and 
Colonel  Cowles  would  like  to  speak  with  him." 

He  came,  that  tall  man,  master  of  the  mansion,  dusty  with 
his  travel,  stern  of  face,  maned  like  a  gray  bear  of  the 
hills;  but  he  smiled  and  reached  out  his  hand.  "Come  in, 
sir,"  he  said.  And  now  we  entered. 

"It  seems  you  have  brought  back  my  girl  again.  I  hope 
my  welcome  will  be  warmer  than  it  was  at  Laramie!"  He 
looked  at  us,  from  one  to  the  other,  the  brown  skin  about  his 
keen  eyes  wrinkling. 

"I  have  certain  things  to  say,  General,"  I  began.  We 
were  walking  into  the  hall.  As  soon  as  I  might,  I  handed 
to  him  the  confession  of  Gordon  Orme.  He  read  it  with 
shut  lips. 

"Part  of  this  I  knew  already,"  he  said,  finally,  "but  not 
this  as  to  your  father.  You  have  my  sympathy — and,  sir, 
my  congratulations  on  your  accounting  for  such  a  fiend. 
There,  at  least,  justice  has  been  served."  He  hesitated  be 
fore  continuing. 

"As  to  some  details,  I  regret  that  my  daughter  has  been 
brought  into  such  matters,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I  regret  also 
that  I  have  made  many  other  matters  worse;  but  I  am  very 
glad  that  they  have  now  been  made  plain.  Dr.  Samuel 
Bond,  of  Wallingford,  your  father's  friend,  has  cleared  up 
much  of  all  this.  I  infer  that  he  has  advised  you  of  the  con 
dition  of  our  joint  business  matters?" 

"Our  estate  is  in  your  debt  General,"  I  said,  "but  I  can 
now  adjust  that.  We  shall  pay  our  share.  After  that,  the 
lands  shall  be  divided,  or  held  jointly  as  yourself  shall  say." 

343 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

"  Why  could  they  not  remain  as  they  are?"  He  smiled  at 
me.  "Let  me  hope  so." 

I  turned  to  Ellen.  "Please,"  I  said,  "bring  me  the  other 
half  of  this." 

I  flung  open  my  bag  and  spread  upon  the  nearest  table  my 
half  of  the  record  of  our  covenant,  done,  as  it  had  seemed  to 
me,  long  years  ago.  Colonel  Meriwether  and  I  bent  over 
the  half  rigid  parchment.  I  saw  that  Ellen  had  gone;  but 
presently  she  came  again,  hesitating,  flushing  red,  and  put 
into  my  hands  the  other  half  of  our  indenture.  She  carried 
Pete,  the  little  dog,  under  her  arm,  his  legs  projecting  stiffly; 
and  now  a  wail  of  protest  broke  from  Pete,  squeezed  too 
tightly  in  her  unconscious  clasp. 

I  placed  the  pieces  edge  to  edge  upon  the  table.  The  old 
familiar  words  looked  up  at  me  again,  solemnly.  Again  I 
felt  my  heart  choke  my  throat  as  I  read:  "/,  John  Cowles 
— /,  Ellen  Meriwether — take  thee — take  thee— until  death  do 
us  part.11 

I  handed  her  a  pencil.  She  wrote  slowly,  freakishly,  hav 
ing  her  maiden  will;  and  it  seemed  to  me  still  a  week  to  a 
letter  as  she  signed.  But  at  last  her  name  stood  in  full — 
E-l-l-e-n  M-e-r-i-w-e-t-h-e-r. 

"General,"  I  said,  "this  indenture  witnesseth!  We  two 
are  bound  by  it.  We  have  '  consented  together  in  holy  wed 
lock.'  We  have  '  witnessed  the  same  before  God.'  We  have 
'pledged  our  faith,  either  to  other.'" 

He  dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes;  then,  with  a  swift 
motion,  he  placed  our  hands  together.  "My  boy,"  said  he, 
"I've  always  wanted  my  girl  to  be  taken  by  an  Army  man — 
an  officer  and  a  gentleman.  Damn  it,  sir !  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Ellen— give  me  that  pencil.  I'll  sign  my  own  name— I'll 

344 


ELLEN 

witness  this  myself!  There's  a  regimental  chaplain  with  our 
command — if  we  can't  find  a  preacher  left  in  Charlottesville." 

" Orderly!"  I  called,  with  a  gesture  asking  permission  of 
my  superior. 

"Yes,  orderly,"  he  finished  for  me,  "get  ready  to  ride  to 
town.  We  have  an  errand  there."  He  turned  to  us  and 
motioned  us  as  though  to  ownership,  bowing  with  grave 
courtesy  as  he  himself  left  the  room.  I  heard  the  chatter  of 
Mrs.  Kitty  greet  him.  I  was  conscious  of  a  grinning  black 
face  peering  in  at  a  window — Annie,  perhaps.  They  all 
loved  Ellen. 

But  Ellen  and  I,  as  though  by  instinct,  stepped  toward 
the  open  door,  so  that  we  might  again  see  the  mountain 
tops. 

I  admit  I  kissed  her! 


THE  END 


345 


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